


Behind Locked Doors

by itshysterekal



Series: No Peace in Quiet [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Recovery, Triggers, UST, bodyguard!Bucky, fake boyfriends trope, implied (past) dub-con (not stucky), lots of trope, miscommunication trope, musician!Steve, shrinkyclinks, smooching and bedsharing is as graphic as it gets in this one friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: Steve shook his head. “I can never sleep the night before a show.”Bucky scoffed a little. “I’d suggest two shots of whiskey, but I got this feeling you’re too pure for it.”“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Barnes. If I didn’t have any secrets, why would there be an NDA?”***Shrinkyclinks in which Steve is a musician with a stalker, and Bucky is an ex-assassin hired to play bodyguard with a need to prove he's safe for civilians again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, sweet goat-herder Jesus, this is a thing. I wrote this in less than 12 days and basically did a pass for spelling and comprehension and maybe fixed a few things that were REALLY bothering me, but i just wrote this for fun and it'll kill my good vibes to put much more work into it. So, i'm telling you, so plainly, that i put this together in 12 days. I'm not bragging. It's because i know that there are some parts of this that are a genuine mess and i want to be judged on that curve.
> 
> In the same vein, Steve and Bucky say some things, think some things, react in some ways that are problematic and that is something that i recognize and it's intentional. At some point they discuss kink, for example. Neither of them knows enough about that to have a good talk about that. (Again, they DISCUSS it. Anything beyond that goes in a rated-higher-than-T sequel.)
> 
> This can be read as a standalone, though there will be at least one sequel if you want to sign up for notifications on the series. I do not plan on posting works to it unless they are COMPLETE. You'll be warned about cliffhangers if they exist, so you can make your own choices.

The first time Bucky Barnes looked at the picture of his new assignment, the only thing he could think was _What a fucking dweeb._ He didn’t have anything against civilians (big or small, thank you very much) or pop stars or whatever else Steve Rogers was supposed to be. No, his problem was with the fact that he was the goddamn Winter Soldier and they wanted him to be a glorified bodyguard to this guy. Bucky hadn’t gotten free of HYDRA and its influence after all this time to play protection detail. He was an internationally renowned assassin, even if no one could prove he existed, so he should be able to pick and choose whatever assignments he wanted. 

Now if only the gig didn’t pay so well and he actually _could_ pick and choose instead of being voluntold what to do by his military doctors. 

The second time Bucky Barnes looked at the picture of his new assignment, he’d taken the time to read the file. Steve Rogers had won the genetic lottery of bad luck, and it was a miracle the kid had been born now and not in Bucky’s time because he couldn’t imagine a kid that sick making it very far. Seriously, what wasn’t wrong with him? How did he even get onstage and perform with such a long laundry list of issues? All things considered, he looked pretty damn good in that picture. Really showed what money and a good team of wardrobe and makeup people could do. 

Seriously, how was this kid alive? 

The third time Bucky looked at the picture, he was trying to think of what might motivate a stalker to send this adorable little punk death threats. Seriously, he was disgustingly wholesome. The file had copies of some of the letters and emails, and Bucky was relieved to read that the stuff sent snail mail had been caught by a P.R. team and Rogers hadn’t seen it. The emails were bad enough, calling the kid a lot of degrading and sexual names, issuing threats of sexual violence. Bucky knew a lot of anonymous internet people said things they didn’t mean, but this one seemed pretty serious. The paper letters… those were going to give Bucky a few nightmares- and that was saying something because he had Seen. Some. Shit. 

The file didn’t have much personal information on Steve Rogers, so Bucky took to the internet. He hadn’t officially accepted the job but between the lack of actual choice and his sudden desire to find the mind that wrote those things and crush it with his bare hands, he’d at least unofficially accepted. Googling Steve Rogers didn’t get him much more information. Skipping the YouTube videos taken on shaky cellphones and the various lyrics pages trying to sell him music, Bucky finally found a few interviews. No, that was a lie. He found a few paraphrases of the same interview. Pure sweet angel Steve Rogers (or at least that’s how everyone seemed to paint him) was raised by his mother who passed away when he was seventeen. Bucky couldn’t find any information on his father, so assumed the man walked out (or that Steve was a product of artificial insemination- a thing Bucky had been fascinated to learn about… Seriously! The science in the twenty-first century!) and not that he’d died. Bucky couldn’t even find any information on what had happened to Steve in the months between his mother’s death and turning eighteen. Had he just been allowed to roam around like an adult? Even with all of his health issues? 

How was he supposed to work without any of this information? 

With a put-upon sigh, Bucky delved into fan sites, eventually finding his way to one called Tumblr. It seemed to house the most enthusiastic and dedicated fans who would likely have done most of the legwork for him. He half-heartedly threw together his own profile (blog?) claiming that he was new to the Steve Rogers fan base and reblogged a few pictures of him and his guitar. That done, he went to some of the busier fans and sent them questions about his exes and just about anything else he could think of. 

All of them seemed to be in agreement that Steve Rogers was a very private individual who kept his friends as far from the spotlight as possible. None of them knew if Rogers had ever had a girlfriend (or boyfriend) and encouraged him to stop asking because Steve didn’t like people prying into his personal life. 

Well, at least Bucky would have some backup protectors for his assignment even if they were only on the internet. 

When the day finally came to meet the pop star himself, Bucky felt woefully unprepared. Aside from the missives from the stalker, the sparse biography, and the apparent commonly-accepted fact that Steve Rogers was as pure and wholesome a cinnamon roll as there ever was, he knew nothing about the situation. He didn’t like knowing nothing about the situation. 

“So before we have you sign anything,” the agent began smoothly, not bothering to introduce herself as she placed his contract on the table, her hand holding the folder shut so he couldn’t even start to read it, “We’re going to have Steve talk to you a bit, make sure you’re a good fit. Top of this file is an NDA which essentially says you won’t reveal anything about Steve to the press, fans, anyone without a matching signed agreement essentially. That is a thing you sign now, before we bring Steve in.” 

Bucky only barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He held out a hand as if to say, _hand it over, then,_ and she opened the folder and slid a very densely printed sheet of paper that he pretended to read for approximately two seconds before deciding he didn’t care enough. He wasn’t interested in spreading information that wasn’t his to spread. Bucky was here to do a job and apparently step one was to convince a pop sensation that he was qualified. 

By the time America’s darling finally walked into the conference room, Bucky was seething. The agent seemed reluctant to leave them alone but Rogers only smiled brightly at the glowering assassin before saying, “Thanks, Nat,” and shutting the door practically in her face. He continued to smile at Bucky. Bucky stared back, attempting to reel in his glare. Why did he have to prove himself to this little punk? He was the goddamn _Winter Soldier_ , Rogers should have to prove himself to Bucky. 

Instead of acknowledging the brunet’s clear agitation, Rogers took the seat his agent had pointedly ignored in favor of leaning over the assassin with paperwork as if it were an intimidation tactic, and folded his hands casually on the table. “Hi,” he said, leaning forward with that apple pie smile. “I’m Steve.” 

“Barnes,” Bucky replied gruffly. He was pretty sure his piss poor manners should put the superstar off, but it only seemed to make him more interesting to the blond. 

“Barnes,” Rogers repeated, and in that moment Bucky knew he was one of those people who thought it was their mission in life to learn and remember everyone’s name they ever talked to. He was the kind of guy who would not only recognize a fan but stop them and talk to them and remember their name and to ask about their dog. He couldn’t figure out if he was impressed or disgusted. “So, here’s the thing. I’m not really sold on the idea that I need a bodyguard, but it’s not up to me. What the people up top want is for someone who is going to follow me pretty much everywhere except the bathroom, and all I could negotiate into there was that I get to talk to them first and make sure you’re someone I won’t mind having around twenty-four hours a day. So really… I mean, I know this is a job and it’s professional, but I’m not really good at treating people like furniture so it’d be good to know if we get along.” 

Bucky should have probably listened to a song or two. Rogers had a deeper voice than he was expecting and the long monologue had really emphasized that for him. He was also a lot more confident than Bucky expected. To look at Steve Rogers, to read about his long list of ailments and the probable tragic backstory of his parentage, Bucky was expecting someone shy and soft-spoken. Rogers didn’t seem to be either of those. Well, if Bucky wanted this job (and, to his own distaste, he really did), he had to convince Rogers they could get along. Did he want a friend? Bucky should have tried to find more of Rogers’ interviews (not that there seemed to be any) to try to measure his personality better. 

“Have to admit, reading your file, I was expecting someone quiet and mousy,” he admitted. As it left his mouth, horror filled him. That was a stupid thing to say, he was insulting the guy-

Rogers was laughing. 

Oh. 

Well…

Good. 

“Yeah, I can see how you might expect that,” Rogers nodded, taking a few deep breaths that made Bucky involuntarily glance down at his chest as if he could see the lungs there and whether or not he needed to be worried about Rogers laughing too hard. Bucky didn’t know much about asthma, but the movies made it seem like something that happened any time you got a little bit too worked up. 

“Makes sense, though. Don’t get to be a pop star if you don’t have a winning personality.” 

Bucky watched as one blond eyebrow rose. “You haven’t actually heard any of my music, have you?” 

Bucky felt his cheeks flush. “I’m not really a musical kind of guy,” he admitted and blinked forcefully against the memory of the doctor who’d worked on him after Zola, in the 90s probably, and his obsession with a song about being stuck in the middle with someone. He liked to play it while he carved Bucky up, possibly for science, but probably because he felt like it. His Winter Soldier triggers were gone as far as he knew, but that was one of the few psychological ones that could still bring down the fog and render him useless. Not that Rogers or whoever wanted to hire him needed to know that some stupid song from the 70s was his off-switch. “Then again, I ain’t here for my musical prowess. That’s your job.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed thoughtfully. Shit. Had he noticed Bucky’s momentary side trip down trigger lane? “So what is your job? Or what kind of prowess do you have, since it’s not musical?” 

Bucky shrugged noncommittally and glanced away. He hated this part of getting the job. “Got my start in the army. Fought in the war as a sniper, but branched off into more specialized ops that I’d have to kill you if I told you about.” Steve laughed until he realized Bucky wasn’t going to laugh with him. _Yeah, pal, I’m serious._ He shrugged again and laid the perfect gem on top. “At the end of the day though, I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.” 

To say that Rogers lit up wouldn’t be entirely accurate. No, Rogers went off like a firework, actually rising in his seat a little when he realized Bucky shared his hometown. “Me too. I mean, I’m from Brooklyn. Nothing more humbling than going back home where everyone still calls me ‘little Steve Rogers.’” 

“Well, you didn’t exactly show them,” Bucky remarked, a wry grin twisting the side of his mouth. “Don’t they have vitamins to make you grow these days or did you just like the nickname that much?” 

“Ha-ha,” Steve rolled his eyes. Good, Bucky had guessed right about Steve liking the type of humor where they insulted each other back and forth. “And what are you calling ‘these days,’ Grandpa?” 

Bucky let out a punctuated chuckle. Hopefully Rogers wouldn’t read the nervousness underneath it. Jesus, Barnes, you are better than this. Keep your head together, the kid isn’t even really your type. 

“Just remember Grandpa was a sniper in the war, so stay off the lawn,” Bucky teased. They both laughed a little and, to his own horror, Bucky was finding that he actually liked spending time around the pop star. He had to turn this conversation around to his own agenda fast. “So, Rogers, tell me about your stalker. The file was pretty sparse on your side of things. I’ve seen what they’ve sent you, but I want to hear it from you.” 

“Honestly, it’s not as big a deal as the company’s making it out to be,” Rogers insisted. “And you can call me Steve.” 

“Okay… Steve,” Bucky conceded, still trying to wrap his brain around this situation. “Why isn’t it a big deal? Those letters were pretty graphic.” 

Steve sighed. “Look, there are sexual comments about me all over the internet- which is honestly baffling, I mean, have they seen me?- but this is more of the same. Just someone decided to track down my email instead of leaving it in a comment on a YouTube video.” 

Bucky sighed. First of all, he _had_ seen Steve and if it weren’t horrifically inappropriate, he’d at least think about sleeping with the guy. He was fucking adorable and Bucky really liked to see innocent guys turn into filthy-mouthed-

No. Shit. Fuck. Bucky was not going to think any thoughts like that, especially not in relation to a guy who was receiving the kind of threats Rogers was. 

“Yeah, those emails you got are the tip of the iceberg, pal. Whoever goes through your mail is probably already in therapy over the shit this fucker is sending you.” 

Rogers paled a little, but he looked more angry than afraid. Good, it’d make Bucky’s job easier if his charge didn’t need his hand held at the first sign of danger. “No one told me there were letters.” 

“Yeah, they wouldn’t. Honestly, I’m not thrilled with the idea of being someone’s bodyguard, but after reading that shit, I showed up just for the chance to put this psycho in the ground.” 

“Uh,” Steve swallowed a little. “You mean, like, stop him and put him in jail, right? We’re not talking about murder-?”

“Exactly,” Bucky agreed easily. He was a disgustingly good liar and was pretty certain he’d maintained his spotless record of unnoticed lies. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like a psychopath myself.” 

It didn’t help that Bucky probably was one. The Winter Soldier trigger words might be gone, but he still had killer instincts that weren’t always at a socially acceptable volume in his head. HYDRA had fucked him up hard, so that the Bucky Barnes who’d joined the army decades ago didn’t even exist anymore. He was pretty sure they had never literally fucked him, but with his memory how it was, he couldn’t be sure of anything. Not that it would have made much of a difference with all the other Shit they put him through. It was a miracle Bucky was a functioning human being at all. By rights, his brain should’ve been fried decades ago. 

Rogers was watching him thoughtfully and Bucky felt his heart jump at the thought that maybe when he went on these trips down Reverie Road his face was doing a thing, a very obvious thing, one that was going to be asked about eventually if he didn’t figure out what exactly his face was doing and how he could stop it. 

“So uh, I guess my only other question is, how does this work? I know PR doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on, which means you can’t be seen around me too much.” 

“Well, I’m vetoing that rom-com thing where I pretend to be your boyfriend,” Bucky quipped. 

“Um, I don’t…” Rogers was actually blushing and Bucky really wished he didn’t have an appreciation for the look. 

“Relax, Rogers. I was joking. Besides, you have a reputation to uphold as the pop star whose personal life is so private that it might not exist. Even your fans are protective of it. Trust me, I tried to get it out of them, but they practically form a wall of ‘Steve doesn’t like people prying,’ any time I asked anything personal.” 

“Ignoring the fact that I’m way too acoustic to be a pop star, you were asking fans personal questions about me?” Steve asked and Bucky realized he’d stepped in it. He blamed the blood that had so inconveniently found its way into Rogers’ face. Bucky couldn’t help it. He had a weakness for the flustered. 

“It’s kind of hard to build a profile on a stalker when you don’t know anything about their victim,” Bucky tried to argue. It was weak. Even Rogers probably knew that the stalker’s behavior had nothing to do with the victim. And, now that he thought about it, he was a piece of shit if he let Steve Rogers believe his behavior could in any way fault him for some asshole who couldn’t keep his scary to himself. “Look, the truth is that you probably have nothing to do with this psycho or their behavior. I was curious. You wanted to know if we got along because of all the time we’ll be spending around each other. So did I. This was my version of the interview.” 

“Oh,” Steve replied, but he didn’t look convinced. 

Bucky sighed. How could he tell Steve he was the Winter Soldier without actually revealing he’d spent most of his life as an evil, cold-blooded killer? “Look, my specialty for a long time was… deep cover ops. Really deep. My job was to get it done _without existing._ Probably why your PR team wants me on you. But it’s also why my instincts are to research you without your knowledge, alright? If it bothers you, I’ll make sure to keep my personal questions strictly directed to you.” 

That seemed to finally do the trick. “Okay,” Rogers finally agreed and Bucky felt something in his chest unwind a bit. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this job, and he still didn’t understand why. “I’ll get Nat.” 

By the time the paperwork was all signed, Bucky was ready to crawl out of his own skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat still for such a long time and he was certain he was never going to look at his own copies of the documents. Protect Steve, be invisible, don’t tell anyone anything about him. The rest probably was all some variation or support of that and Bucky didn’t care. He knew what his current mission was and wanted to get on with it. By the time “Nat” finally told him he could call her Romanoff, he’d stopped caring. 

“Thanks, Agent Romanoff,” he replied brusquely as she shut the folder with what was clearly their master plan to Bore Him to Death. She pursed her lips as if the title amused her and that wasn’t exactly his intent, but it was going to stick now. There was an air of something about her that made him like her more than the PR team that waded in after her, and it was more than just the fact that she didn’t at any point start touching his hair without asking. 

Bucky wasn’t exactly obsessed with his own appearance, but he at least kept himself clean. He washed his hair every two or three days, kept his face shoven, and made sure he wore deodorant. The PR team seemed to want to make him into a fashion model and Bucky was fighting them every step of the way. “The point is for me not to get noticed!” he snarled out when one of them started to reach for the glove on his left hand. Seriously, had no one told these morons he had a fucking metal arm? 

“But realistically, we have to entertain the notion that you will be spotted eventually and we cannot have the press speculating on why you are in Steve’s social circle.” 

“If they haven’t managed to pin the Kennedy assassination on me by now, they aren’t going to catch me hanging around a pop star,” Bucky bit out. He had no idea if he was behind Kennedy, but people always seemed to pause and reconsider if he implied that he was. It was no different here. Every single one of them had some facial orifice opened wider than usual- either their eyes or mouth. The guy on his left had his nostrils flared like Kennedy’s assassination had been a personal slight against him even though Bucky was pretty sure he couldn’t even have been born then. 

Finally, the leader of the team outed herself by stepping into the middle. “Okay,” she said, as if everything were about to be settled. “I think Sergeant Barnes has had quite enough fun with us for one day. The facts are that you accepted this job, you signed the contract, and your life now belongs to us. We’re going to decide what you wear and what you’re allowed to say to the press, should you ever end up in front of them. We decide what you post on social media, what-“

Bucky had tried his usual silencing glares, but none of them seemed to work on the redhead. “I’m not on social media,” he replied. It wasn’t technically a lie. BrooklynStevieFan wasn’t him in any way except that he ran the account- and there was no way in hell he was shutting it down when it was his best way of tracking fans and monitoring what was going on in that circle of Steve’s life. “And as for what I wear, I get final say. You all might be the experts on how to make a guy look acceptable, but I am the expert on how to make a guy look invisible- unless that’s not the goal anymore? What exactly was your plan if I was spotted? Tell everyone Rogers has a secret boyfriend?” 

“Actually that could w-“

“No,” he interrupted firmly. “As I understand it, the goal is to keep Rogers safe without the public finding out he’s in danger. You give him a fake boyfriend, eventually we’re going to have to reveal it was a sham and then they will definitely know he was in danger.” 

“Or you could just fake break up,” the red head suggested, but there was a little smirk on her lips that made him certain she didn’t like that plan either. He was going to need some more serious therapy when this was over. “Relax, Barnes. Your goals are our goals. We just need to do something about your enthusiasm for black.” 

Bucky glared, but she was immovable. If he weren’t on the brink of panic, he’d probably be impressed that this slight red head was making his heart pound unpleasantly between his too-tight lungs. Every since she’d said _Your life now belongs to us_ , he’d had a growing sense of unease that wasn’t helped by the two people now touching his hair and clothes like he couldn’t snap their necks as easily as think it. Being in a chair, even if he wasn’t strapped to it, while people did what they wanted about him as if they had no reason to be afraid of him felt too much like HYDRA and they were lucky Bucky had the kind of professionalism and self-control that he did or this conference room would be bathed in blood by now. 

It went on for hours, them forcing him to try on different clothes, with him telling them in more creative and more profane ways that the shirts were too tight or the pants were going to sterilize him as soon as he had to kick someone. Not that Bucky ever planned on having kids, but it made his point nicely. It was hours later, when the sun had set, that they let Bucky go down to the studio where Rogers was wrapping up recording for the day. Bucky stood unobtrusively in the hall, pleased to note that, in spite of the maroon (red, bright, flaring, flashing, not black) cardigan they’d forced him to wear over a black Henley (his only victory), not even the sound technicians had noticed him yet. Bucky was pretty sure the boring, barely loose enough to move jeans they’d given him cost three if not four figures, and the plain black chukkas probably weren’t any better. 

Steve had just packed up a guitar (of course it was a guitar, the guy screamed backyard picnic on the fourth of July) and headed out. He didn’t notice Bucky at all, which was a relief because he honestly preferred to be treated like furniture as long as no one actually asked him to be used like it. There was one handler in the 80s who enjoyed power trips and one of them was having Bucky on all fours while he used the Asset as a foot rest. Nostrils flaring murderously, Bucky realized he should probably attempt to rein in the bad memories the PR team had drudged up- especially as he followed Steve down the hall. 

Suddenly it occurred to the pop star that he was supposed to have a protective detail and he stopped walking, glancing around nervously as if to ask why no one stopped him from simply walking away. He turned purposefully, probably to head back, when his eyes landed on Bucky. He stumbled back a step before recognition dawned in his eyes. Good. At least he was taking the threat seriously now. 

“The PR team and I had a long fight about my clothes,” he offered in explanation. “I lost.” 

Steve actually laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. It was a good thing Bucky was working for him because, in another life, he could see himself falling for this dweeb. He didn’t know if the Bucky Barnes from the 40s would, but who he’d been beaten into definitely could. Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d always been attracted to people regardless of gender, but he didn’t remember being attracted to any of his fellow soldiers. Then again, he’d always been good at compartmentalizing. They’d been at war. He probably wouldn’t have been attracted to anyone in that situation. Not that he could really remember the war clearly anyway. 

Steve was blushing a little and Bucky fought down a smile. He’d have to work harder at compartmentalizing, but it was difficult when his mission wanted him to act like they were pals. “You look good though,” Steve assured him and Bucky felt a warm rush from the praise. “And I’m genuinely impressed that I didn’t notice you. I… tend to notice everyone.” 

“Yeah, I’ve already decided your favorite pastime is learning the names of all your fans and their pets,” Bucky informed him in a deadpan tone. Steve laughed again and Bucky’s mouth did an embarrassing twitch that some might call a smile. “Don’t worry about your skills of observation, Rogers. The only time I get noticed is when I want to be.” Or when he was so distracted that he couldn’t function, but that was something for a later (never) conversation. 

“Good to know,” Steve replied and Bucky realized he was waiting for Bucky to fall into step beside him. As soon as Bucky complied, the smaller man launched into another monologue and Bucky hated how much he liked listening to that voice. He could definitely understand how that voice had a music career. “So I’m not really sure what your social life is like, but mine is pretty much nonexistent. The guest bedroom is on the opposite end of the house though, so you don’t need to worry about me interrupting anything. Obviously whatever’s in the fridge…”

Bucky started to zone out. Was Rogers suggesting he would be fraternizing while on the job? “Hold on,” Bucky interjected, realizing belatedly that Rogers was trying to establish a shower schedule with him like they were college roommates or something and that he sounded a little angrier than any normal person should be. “Are you suggesting that I would jeopardize your safety by bringing someone into your house without a background check simply because I wanted to get laid?” 

“Uh,” Steve uttered and Bucky only felt a little guilty for pointing out how terrible he was at thinking things through. “I mean… if you were coming home late, or- or-“

“One thing straight now, Rogers,” Bucky insisted. Someone else might have been amused to watch the guy stumble over himself to try (and fail miserably) to make his thought processes sound logical, but Bucky had a job to do and maybe Rogers’ ego had nothing to do with it, but there was something protective in Bucky’s chest that HYDRA had never managed to completely wipe out. “Your safety is my priority. That means I don’t bring strangers into your house. I don’t leave you for hours at a time over something as stupid as getting laid. If I’m out of protection range, I’m either dead or handling a threat. I take my job seriously, Rogers. I ain’t opposed to acting like buds, but don’t forget why I’m really here, okay? There is a scary motherfucker out there who wants to do all sorts of horrifying things to you, and I am not about to let him get within ten feet of you after the shit he’s written.” 

Steve looked appropriately cowed, and then suddenly he closed off. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

How had Barnes screwed it up this time? 

“Look, Rogers…”

“It’s okay, Barnes. I won’t forget why you’re here.” 

Bucky sighed quietly. Yeah, he’d definitely screwed up and he had no idea how. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made a Spotify playlist of Steve’s set, but they don’t have the first song I linked to on YouTube, “Happy Song” by Melissa Ferrick. Like, any version. So, here’s the other two songs that are actually linked (for people who don’t YouTube) https://open.spotify.com/user/bkumc3izji25t7yucz41xuvut/playlist/5YuEiQYe64vqJHBnrH6rVu

A couple weeks passed before Bucky really began to fall into the new routine. Steve seemed to bounce back from that first night pretty quickly. Whatever Bucky had said must not have been too bad, since it seemed to have been forgotten the next morning. They ate breakfast together and it only took two days for Steve to realize that Bucky was sneaking food while they were out because Steve’s diet of sugary, colorful cereals in the morning was not cutting it for him. Immediately after realizing, he insisted they go for groceries and Bucky insisted it was too public before seeing what the PR team could do with facial prosthetics. It was amazing what happened with some new eyebrows and nose, even on a face as unique as Steve’s. 

By the end of the first week, Bucky had taken to heart that Steve really didn’t mind shelling out the money for Bucky to actually consume a level of calories that could sustain him. He’d been planning on grabbing snacks whenever he got the chance so as not to inconvenience his assignment. There was also the fact that he needed a ridiculous amount of calories to maintain his super soldier metabolism. He’d caught Steve staring once or twice, but he’d gotten over it quickly enough. 

True to his word, Rogers was terrible at treating anyone like they belonged in the background- even when they did. He’d taught Bucky a few board games (the appeal of the game where the hippos ate marbles was inexplicable and inarguable) and he taught Steve a few card games. This was definitely one of his easier assignments, and he was struggling to remember that Steve was a mission, not a friend. Worse, he sometimes had to remind himself that he wasn’t just hanging out. There was someone out there who might very well torture this too-kind young man until his body simply gave out. 

Steve went to bed early that night and Bucky didn’t blame him. He’d caught part of the interview the PR team had managed to talk him into, and it sounded miserable. They’d grilled Steve endlessly about his nonexistent love life (and Bucky was very confident in labelling it nonexistent because he now spent twenty-four hours a day in the same building as the guy), occasionally veering into questions about his songwriting process, but always trying to trick him into revealing something personal when he least expected it. By the end of the interview, Steve’s smile was forced and it was clear he wasn’t going to agree to another any time soon. 

Bucky smiled approvingly as he clicked the heart and the recycle-square on Steve-RogersThat’s Tumblr post about how uncomfortable Steve looked and how fucking rude that asshole interviewer was for pushing him when everyone knew Steve didn’t like personal questions. His nightly check on Steve’s Tumblr fans was slowly becoming one of his favorite parts of the day. He was actually looking forward to the concert Steve had coming up in a few days because he still hadn’t gotten around to listening to any of his music. Of course, he still might not get the chance since he’d be coordinating security in a fairly large venue. It was a building, so at least he didn’t have to worry about aerial attacks or open fields. The day Rogers got tapped to play a music festival was the day Barnes tore out the hair he’d fought the PR team so hard on letting him keep. 

Bucky woke up to chaos. Unfortunately, most of the chaos was just in his head. He felt dizzy, his heart pounding as he stared in wide-eyed terror at Steve Rogers, flat on his ass on the floor by Bucky’s bed. His cheekbone was darkening where Bucky had- fuck, Bucky had hit him. He ran out of the room and onto Rogers’ deck, gasping in the cool night air. It had been a long time since he’d had a nightmare, and he realized now that that was what had happened. He’d been having a nightmare about those damn letters and it had chilled him so hard he might as well have been back with HYDRA being put on ice. Caring about Steve might motivate him, but it was also making it a hell of a lot harder to stay cool and calm. He still hadn’t dealt with the fact that he’d hit the guy… fuck, he’d hit Steve hard enough to bruise. Had he broken something? Steve seemed like his bones might break easily, especially with that sugary shit he ate for breakfast (and sometimes lunch and dinner). 

Unfortunately, Steve apparently couldn’t even ignore someone when they needed to be ignored, because he came out onto the deck without even a little bit of hesitation. Bucky must have been wrong about him having any semblance of self-preservation. With another deep breath, Bucky shoved down everything he was feeling and turned to Steve, all business. “Let me see,” he said quietly, reaching for the bruise. Steve almost didn’t flinch, but Bucky could see the tightness of it in his eyes where he was fighting the reaction. As much as it killed him to be someone Steve had to be afraid of, it was better that way. Bucky was a monster, after all. 

Gently, as if he was handling a wounded baby bird, Bucky brushed his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, trying not to press any harder than absolutely necessary as he felt for breaks. When he finally forced himself to meet Steve’s eyes, those baby blues were gazing at him like Bucky had personally hung the stars that night. Bucky cleared his throat and forced himself to pull away. “It’s not broken,” he announced, looking at the stars that he definitely had no hand in hanging. For the first time since taking this assignment, Bucky felt like maybe _he_ might be broken, even if Steve’s face wasn’t. He flinched violently when he felt Steve’s hand on his right arm. 

“Sorry,” Steve apologized quietly, having withdrawn the touch as soon as Bucky reacted. 

At the end of his patience, Bucky whirled on Steve. “Did you not learn your lesson the first time?” he demanded. “Do I have to break your face in before you realize that maybe sneaking up on me isn’t a good idea?” 

His heart was breaking itself with how hard it was hammering or the look on Steve’s face would have done it. “I just… I was getting a glass of water and I heard something in your room…”

“So you investigate? Jesus Christ, Stevie, what if it had been your stalker?” 

“Did you just call me Stevie?” 

“Focus, Rogers,” Bucky pressed. “You don’t investigate strange noises. That’s my job. I have the training and the combat skills. You see anything dangerous, you put as much distance and walls between it and you as you can. Right?” 

“You were kind of crying,” Steve mumbled. “I didn’t say it was a strange noise… just I heard it and I was worried.” 

Bucky deflated instantly. Fuck, he’d been crying? Out loud? He didn’t remember much about what he’d been dreaming, only that it hadn’t gone well for Steve and he hadn’t been able to help. Bucky had taken too long to respond and Steve was approaching again, slowly, in full view this time, so maybe he’d learned something after all. He wrapped Bucky in a hug and, after a moment, Bucky gave in and hugged him back. Steve Rogers was at least a head shorter than Bucky, but damn if he didn’t give the best hug the ex-assassin super soldier had ever received. Instinctively, not thinking about what it might mean, he tucked his nose into Steve’s hair and shut his eyes. He had already fucked up the job, might as well go for broke. 

“I’m sorry about your face,” he mumbled, and Steve actually laughed a little, his breath tickling against Bucky’s bare chest. 

“Can’t be any worse than it already was,” Steve replied wryly as they finally broke apart. His gaze was determinedly fixed on Bucky’s, like he was trying not to look anywhere else and- oh, fuck. His arm. Steve could see not only that Bucky had a metal arm, but the gnarled scar tissue where it was permanently forged into his shoulder. 

Bucky shifted nervously, flattening the back of his metal hand at the base of his spine as if that might hide the thing. “Uh, I guess you were gonna see the arm eventually,” he said and looked away so he wouldn’t see whatever look Steve had when he inevitably gave in to the urge to examine it. “It’s a Stark prototype, Stark like… fuck, what does he call himself? There was that big press conference a couple months ago where he outed himself as some kind of superhero? Anyway, I lost it in combat. The arm. So… just to get that out of the way.” Calling it a Stark prototype might have only been a half-truth, but Stark had been the one to gut the HYDRA version and rebuild. None of his doctors trusted the HYDRA tech in it, and neither did Bucky. It was still the same outer shell, but inside it felt like it belonged to him now. Stark was one of the good guys, so having him rebuild the arm meant it was a Good Guy Arm™ now, right? 

Steve still wasn’t looking at the arm and seemed thoughtful when Bucky finally got up the nerve to look at him. “I don’t mean to discount anything you just said,” Steve hesitated, “but it’s kind of not a big deal to me. You seem kind of worried like you’re expecting me to be freaked out, so I just want you to know… I’m not. I’m just grateful that someone who’s already given so much for his country would bother with a scrawny little ass like me.” 

Bucky actually laughed at that. “Trust me, you ain’t an ass,” he assured the blond. “You’re America’s favorite squeaky-clean pop star.” 

“Singer-songwriter, but I guess you’re never gonna stop calling me a pop star,” Steve replied, though he had an amused smile on his face. It faded into something more serious as he continued to look at Bucky. “Are you alright? Really?” 

Bucky sighed. “I’m fine, except I’m supposed to be protecting this punk who seems to think it’s his job to protect me.” 

“Asshole,” Steve smirked. 

“Practically my middle name,” Bucky teased him. He gripped the back of Steve’s neck gently and guided him back inside. “Come on. You’ve got a show and you should probably get some rest or something.” 

Steve shook his head. “I can never sleep the night before a show.” 

Bucky scoffed a little. “I’d suggest two shots of whiskey, but I got this feeling you’re too pure for it.” 

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Barnes. If I didn’t have any secrets, why would there be an NDA?” 

Bucky turned on him, not sure if he was serious, and Steve’s expression didn’t help at all. “If I do a security check in your closet, am I gonna find a mini arsenal? You’re not secretly a cult leader, are you?” 

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Nothing like that. Come on, where’s your whiskey and can I have about four shots?” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Rogers, you can have as many shots as you want, but I’m pretty sure they’ll fire me if you show up hung over, so just remember that my replacement probably won’t have a badass metal arm made by a bona fide superhero when you’re making these decisions.” 

Predictably, Rogers was out after only two shots. Bucky watched him for a moment, trying not to think about how fucked he was. It was hard to convince himself he wasn’t falling for his assignment when he couldn’t stop watching the guy’s chest rise and fall, and half his thoughts were dedicated to how soft those slightly-parted lips were. Grumbling in annoyance at himself, Bucky picked Steve up and carried him to bed, taking a disgusting amount of care tucking him in. 

Yeah, he was definitely fucked. 

How the hell did this wholesome little shit make Bucky care this much after two weeks? He cared about his mission- and God knows he still hadn’t managed to shake the feeling of _Impending Punishment_ at even the slightest hint of failure- but that wasn’t it. He cared about Steve. He _cared_ about _Steve_. Bucky literally could not remember the last time someone treated him like a person or a friend. He was sure it had happened before (and maybe during) the war, but he couldn’t remember any of it. There were flashes of people he thought might be his family, but they were fleeting and there was only a vague positive emotion attached. The team of doctors who’d helped rehabilitate him were good to him, but there was a level of professionalism there that he knew Steve would turn his nose up at. 

Maybe it could be that simple. Maybe Bucky was falling for the idea of Steve, of that easy, friendly dynamic they had. Maybe it had nothing to do with Steve and was just about Bucky’s prolonged starvation from approval and compassion. 

Yeah, that had to be it. If it was anything else, Bucky was compromising the mission. 

Downing about half the bottle, Bucky sighed. He really fucking hated having a super soldier metabolism. The buzz lasted about five minutes and his nerves weren’t any steadier. There’d be no more sleep for him that night. With an unreasonable amount of annoyance, he pulled out his laptop and started going over pictures of the venue and pulled up some public plans. They were scheduled to be there about three hours ahead of time, so it wasn’t entirely necessary to learn the layout before they arrived, but what else was he going to do? 

By the time Steve woke up, Bucky had identified about half a dozen security risks, only one of which he couldn’t solve- but the chances of someone actually gaining access to a nuclear warhead and pointing it at the building were slim. Bucky’s eyes burned from the lack of sleep and Steve didn’t look much better. The guy was squinting like the sunlight was too much to bear and it was frustratingly adorable. “What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath when he realized the kind of nonsense running through his head. 

“Mm?” Steve mumbled. 

Well, at least Steve sounded like he’d been in a reasonably deep sleep. Even if he sounded like he wasn’t completely out of it. “Just going over building plans for the venue,” Bucky replied, feigning an absent tone as if he hadn’t finished with them already and was still working. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve frowned and, heaven help the ex-assassin, even that was endearing. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. He had slept, just not after the nightmare. “I don’t sleep as much as most people.” 

“Oh.” Steve kept frowning at him for a moment, as if he had another question, but then he turned and walked to the kitchen, his expression unchanged. Bucky actually laughed a little, too quiet for Steve to hear. He really needed to get a grip. A sleepy and confused Steve was not cute or anything that needed any more of Bucky’s brain power. Steve was an assignment. That’s all. A few minutes later, Steve held out a bowl to him, with a disdainful, “Here’s your shredded cardboard.” 

It was the brunet’s turn to frown in confusion until he saw it was the shredded wheat cereal he’d picked out and smirked. “You’re confusing your fibers, but I guess I can’t expect too much of someone who eats sugar and dye for half his meals.” 

“I’ll have you know these are Lucky Charms,” Steve replied, affronted, “but I guess I can’t expect too much of someone who eats cardboard and sawdust for half his meals.” 

Bucky laughed. Dammit. “Thanks,” he replied, trying to cover up his response by taking a ridiculously large bite of the bowl Steve had made him. 

“Mine has shapes,” Steve went on, apparently stuck on defending his nutritional choices to Bucky. “Hearts, stars, and rainbows, clovers and blue moons… Pots of gold and… rainbows… You know, there’s a whole rhyme or something but I can’t remember it. Look, there’s rainbows and I don’t get to be gay any other time, so I might as well have a gay breakfast.” 

Bucky actually choked on the mouthful he still hadn’t managed to get all the way through. Steve looked at him with wide eyes and Bucky realized he was probably failing a test- especially since he couldn’t get his throat clear to respond. Finally he rasped out, “You’re gay?” 

Steve was really interested in his cereal now. “Bisexual,” he shrugged, stirring the dyed sugar. “I guess this is where I remind you that you have an NDA and you tell me if Nat has to find a new bodyguard.” 

“Something wrong with the one you’ve got?” Bucky asked, not liking the way his chest tightened at the thought of being thrown out of Steve’s life so quickly. 

Steve glanced up nervously and Bucky hoped there was still time for him to scrape a pass on whatever test he was being given. “You just… seem surprised? I’m not sure if you’re… uncomfortable? I’m not about to hit on anyone who works for me, I’m not an asshole. But you wouldn’t be my first roommate who didn’t want to stay when he found out.” 

“Well first of all, fuck that guy,” Bucky replied immediately. “And second of all, I’m not your roommate. I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe. I don’t care who you think about when you touch yourself at night. If you touch yourself at night. I’m still not convinced you even know what I’m talking about.” 

Steve snorted and seemed to loosen back up. Bucky relaxed a little as well. “I know what you’re talking about, and I’m not a blushing virgin, okay? I’ve dated. I’ve… done things.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that rippled under his words as he (probably shouldn’t have) said, “Plenty of things, I’m sure, but I bet none of them involve actually saying the word sex.” 

Steve blushed a deep crimson that Bucky really wished he didn’t like so much. “I just… think those kinds of things are private. They’re special, between you and someone else. Not… for anyone else.” 

Bucky softened a little. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Stevie. There’s nothing wrong with that. Any of it.” 

Steve gave him another smile, and this one just about did Bucky in. He’d read into the statement exactly what Bucky had put in, which was acceptance and support and probably something more that he couldn’t identify. God dammit, but Bucky wanted everything good for this punk that could possibly come to him. He didn’t deserve this nut job stalker, and he certainly didn’t deserve to feel like a part of him was something that drove people away. Steve Rogers actually lived up to his reputation and then some. 

“Thanks, Barnes.” 

“Any time, pal.” 

They got to talking about the venue and the show and Steve teased him a bit about still not having listened to his music (“At this point, I think it’s just a point of pride to not hear it!”) and then Bucky beat him at gin (twice) before the car arrived for them. Bucky tried to carry Steve’s guitar, but apparently no one else was allowed to touch it. He let it drop easily. He was a bodyguard, after all, not a roadie. If Steve wanted to play bodyguard to a guitar, Bucky was going to let him. 

In the middle of checking the stage door exit, he realized what Steve was singing. Bucky didn’t know much about sound checks, but he was pretty sure you were supposed to play real songs and not just improvise terrible lyrics like, “ _He’s checking out the alarms, making sure no one’s harmed, probably doesn’t knit yarns, yeah that’s our bodyguard Barnes…_ ”

Steve glanced over at Bucky’s scandalized expression and lost it completely, his snickering echoing throughout the venue. Bucky only continued to stare at him, open-mouthed and Deeply Offended that Steve would dare make up a song about him. He was half tempted to spend his night learning how to knit now. 

Scowling and shaking his head (just to make sure no one knew exactly how much fondness was underneath his grumpiness), he went to check the remaining two exits and lighting backstage. It was probably someone’s job to see to tripping hazards and visibility, but as far as the brunet was concerned, anything related to Steve’s safety was in his purview and he wasn’t someone who delegated. Delegation required trust, and Bucky didn’t have much of that in supply. He really didn’t like the food table that was set up. He was glad he’d done his perimeter checks quickly so that he could stay in sight of the table. Almost all of the food came from sealed containers and Bucky kept it in his sightline at all times. 

Steve was not going to make this easy. Bucky immediately grabbed the plate from him as Steve went for a doughnut. “Chips are fine, so are the crackers, cheese, various dips. No baked goods. You can have those cookies,” he relented, pointing to the unopened Oreos. 

Steve stared at him, then at the food table, then back at Bucky. “Are you…? I mean, they’re sitting here open, so it’s not like-“

“I’ve kept an eye on-“

“Oh, my god,” Steve interrupted with a giggle of disbelief. “Barnes, I’m pretty sure the food is safe, okay? You don’t need to watch every little-“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted, and at least the guy seemed to realize just how serious Bucky was because he was listening even if he might not agree. “This guy has threatened you in so many ways I stopped counting. Humor me and stick to the things I know won’t kill you. At least not today. I’m pretty sure all the sugar’s going to catch up with you eventually.” 

With a sigh, Steve relinquished the doughnut and grabbed some of the cookies Bucky had given him permission to eat. “But I hope you know we’re getting doughnuts for breakfast tomorrow,” he said, and Bucky shrugged. He’d won the war, so he was perfectly happy to let Steve have the last word. He could even have his sugary circles of empty calories. Bucky was there to save his life, not run it. 

As the people started arriving, Bucky’s nerves simultaneously hardened and started to fray. Any of these people could be Steve’s stalker (and Bucky needed to stop thinking of the stalker as a “him,” because it let his guard down around Steve’s largely female fanbase, but he just felt in his bones that it was a man) and Bucky couldn’t watch all of them. Most of them were smiling, and he decided he could rule out anyone who was part of a group, so that helped a little. Still, the crowd was huge. Bucky had known Steve was popular, but he wasn’t exactly Beyoncé. 

Bucky decided his best course of action was to remain in the wings where he could see the majority of the crowd, the food table, and Steve-

Shit, where was Steve? 

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest and he felt his hand start to shake minutely as he rushed backstage. The exits hadn’t been opened. Where the fuck was Steve? 

He rushed into the hall and let out a furious litany of curses, just barely quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry back to the stage as he stalked over to the pop star. “Where the fuck were you?” he demanded, with a lot more anger than Steve deserved, but Bucky was probably having a panic attack. 

“I had to pee,” Steve replied, his face more bewildered than scared, so at least Bucky had that going for him. “Did something happen?” 

And just like that, ice water put out every flame on Bucky’s face. “Well, no, I just…”

Steve grinned and for the first time, Bucky didn’t like it. “You were worried about me,” he said, jabbing a finger into Bucky’s chest. “You didn’t know where I was and thought I’d been kidnapped.” 

“It’s not funny,” he mumbled, “and you’re not a kid, you’d have been abducted, not kidnapped.” 

“Okay, semantics guy. I promise to tell you if I’m gonna leave your sight again, okay? No one could’ve gotten back here without going past you, you know.” 

Bucky pointed behind Steve to an emergency exit and waited for his apology. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Barnes, I’ve got some music to play, alright? Have some faith in your own bodyguarding, Jesus.” 

That… was not an apology. Bucky glared nonplussed and followed a few steps behind Steve who, to his credit, acted as if it was a perfectly ordinary thing to have an angry guy with a metal arm dogging his every step. It was painfully obvious which one of them was in charge, and it was _not_ the person who actually needed to be in control of the various variables. 

Bucky crossed his arms as he was forced to stop in the wings as Steve walked onstage, smile huge as he waved to the audience who lost their collective shit. Steve actually ducked a little as if he was shocked. He looked way too small for the stage, and Bucky straightened his spine, stretching as if pretending to be taller could compensate for the empty space on stage. He was trying not to picture the entire crowd swarming up there around Steve, creating the perfect barrier and distraction. Bucky couldn’t just mow down civilians to keep his target safe. Bucky suddenly realized he was screwing up this job in more ways than anticipated. Caring for Steve on any level was incapacitating him. He’d been on the brink of a panic attack since the crowd started coming in and now that Steve was in front of them with at least fourteen different threats (and counting, shut up, brain) that Bucky couldn’t stop until they actually came true, he was drowning in his own anxiety. Bucky was tense and ready to fight, so much so that he couldn’t focus on anything- until Steve started [playing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RH7Wf0XLho0%E2%80%9D>).

Instantly, Bucky’s focus narrowed and his mind calmed to the tempo of Steve hitting strings and singing something about happy songs. There was a line about eating red apples and he was definitely going to make sure Steve never heard the end of how few actual apples he ate. Any time Steve ate anything, Bucky was going to point out that it was not an apple. The crowd cheered louder than it should have been able to and Bucky actually had to press his hands over his enhanced ears. “Thanks,” Steve said bashfully, like he couldn’t believe all these people were screaming for him. And all of them, including Bucky, believed he didn’t believe it. “This next one is from my first album, so you might recognize it.” 

Bucky’s eyes immediately flicked to one of the loners as he reached into his jacket and Bucky was almost onstage before he realized the fan was only pulling out a phone to start recording. Steve glanced to the wings, having seen Bucky react. He shook his head in response to the question on Steve’s face and Steve smiled, going on as if nothing had happened. Before he even started singing, the crowd screamed and Bucky wondered if they came here to actually hear Steve or just shout over him. Finally, the cheers died down and Bucky could actually hear [what Steve was playing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEdYeXK6Sgw). Bucky wasn’t sure how he’d managed to write something that sounded simultaneously deeply personal and completely universal, but he suddenly understood how people could dedicate hours a day to running blogs on Steve Rogers. It was a song about forgiveness and the cruelty of children, which Bucky could only assume Steve knew a lot about. Once again, he was overcome with the urge to protect, and he didn’t even know what from. 

He went right into another one the crowd recognized and shouted the lyrics along with him. This went on until finally, Steve blessedly announced, “This is a new one.” 

Thank fuck. None of them had heard this, so they wouldn’t wreck it for someone like Bucky who had never heard Steve before and had barely even heard him at his own concert. It [started](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPq09dMEuAs) with simple articulated guitar notes and the crowd was actually silent, eager for the new material. Bucky actually lost his focus on anything but Steve, his vision almost tunneling. This song was sad. Steve’s voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the silence as he reached the end of the first chorus, “And if this is giving, then I’m giving up, giving up on love, on love.” Metal whirred in his arm as the fingers curled into a fist. 

Bucky had to take a breath and stop listening. He didn’t want to think about what could have inspired this song and he didn’t want to think about Steve being sad or lonely. He didn’t want to think about why Steve might give up on love, but he suspected it had a lot to do with his celebrity status and a media hungry for the personal life he didn’t want to share. 

Bucky tuned out the rest of Steve’s set and focused on the crowd. The music had calmed him, which was a new notion for him. Before, music had been a source of distress. He’d preferred the quiet to anything else, but now he found he liked at least one type of noise. For now, he was going to keep it in the background. Having learned earlier that Steve was bisexual and had been shunned over it gave him yet another depth and Bucky didn’t like the insight it gave him into some of the music. 

Finally, Steve was done and he thanked everyone for coming before shuffling offstage, grinning at Bucky who managed a tight smile in return. His guitar was in his left hand, so he reached his right out to squeeze Bucky’s arm, shifting at the last second to make sure he grabbed Bucky’s flesh arm, squeezing it reassuringly. Apparently it was that obvious that he was still stressed on some level. Some bodyguard he was. 

Bucky didn’t speak again that night unless he was spoken to. He kept his focus where it should be: on Steve’s safety and not Steve himself. This was for the best, since if he had been paying attention to Steve, he would have been very distracted by how melancholy he became when faced with the coldness of the Winter Soldier at work. 


	3. Chapter 3

They fell into a routine after that, and it wasn’t as friendly as it had been. Two months passed and more letters came, including a bouquet of roses that Steve never heard about. Bucky made sure no one told him about the letters either. The roses themselves were disturbing enough, but they were paired with a letter that described the stalker’s desire to cover Steve in their petals- again, disturbing enough without having paired it with the desire to _replace Steve’s skin_ with the floral layer. Bucky had another nightmare that night, and thankfully he’d woken alone. As far as Bucky could tell, Steve was sleeping through the night now. So, when he got up for a glass of water to cool down and forget about the nightmare sweat, he was surprised to hear the faint sounds of a guitar coming from the other end of the house. 

Maybe he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but Bucky had already lost that battle as soon as he heard the strings vibrating. One thing HYDRA had drilled into him was the ability to move completely soundlessly, and it was one of the few things he was grateful for. Steve was muttering behind his closed door and Bucky could hear the slightly muted drop of a pen on a notebook. Steve was writing. A few chords articulated, a minor key, and Bucky hoped it was one of those fast-paced rock and roll minor keys, not a sad one, but the individually plucked notes made it hard to convince himself- especially when Steve started singing. His voice was quiet, practically a whisper, just loud enough to get the notes out and Bucky wondered why. Steve was far enough from Bucky’s room that the music wouldn’t carry- they had established that weeks ago. 

“ _’Cause I don’t really wanna be safe. It must’ve been the way I was raised. Sleep with one eye open, I say. Hey, hey, hey. I don’t wanna be nobody’s fool. I played that part so many times before_ ,” Steve [sang](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyNo6lZi0vM) and Bucky swallowed thickly. Was that about him? “ _How I long to be a shadow on the wall. I would make no sound at all. And when the sun goes down, a shadow on the wall cannot be seen at all. At all…_ ”

Steve started to repeat the chorus, his voice pitching up for the reprise and Bucky headed back to the kitchen, feeling like he’d truly intruded where he shouldn’t have. They did two more shows in the city before the Forgive the Children tour was announced, featuring a new album with the song that had stopped Bucky in his tracks at his first show with Steve. 

The letters started coming three a week instead of one after that. 

Bucky went back and forth between trying to recreate the easy friendship they’d seemed to have lost and trying to embrace the professional chill that had iced its way between them. Steve’s sets began to skew toward slower songs, but he never played the one Bucky had heard him writing that night. They played shows in Philly, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, DC, Richmond, and Raleigh before Bucky decided he and Steve needed to have a Talk. The fans didn’t seem any less enthusiastic about Steve playing, but Bucky could tell something in Steve was off. 

The shows had all gone so well that Bucky hadn’t been prepared for threats on the periphery. As soon as Steve opened the door to the tour bus, roses spilled out and Bucky immediately went rigid, stepping instinctively in front of Steve. He kept an arm behind him, holding Steve in place as if to shield the musician before looking around the side street for threats. He didn’t see anyone suspicious, which meant this had to have happened before the show. Suddenly, two dozen fans came around the corner. “Shit,” Bucky muttered. Normally they could get Steve into the bus quickly enough to avoid them being spotted together, but the roses had eliminated that option. “Agent Nat,” Bucky latched onto her as she came out the back door. His mind was whirling, and the need for a quick plan was the only thing keeping him on his feet right now. “Stay with Steve while I clear the bus. Steve, you’re signing autographs tonight. No one will pull anything by a crowd that size.” He hoped. Romanoff had seen the roses on the steps of the bus and, judging by the look in her eyes (just her eyes, which impressed Bucky. If she weren’t a talent agent, he would have pegged her as a spy or a mercenary like himself), she had seen the letters too. 

He watched as she guided Steve to the fans and, once he was convinced Steve was in a populated, well-lit area with someone who understood the threat, Bucky stepped out of sight and drew his handgun. The roses continued up into the bus, coating the floor. What he hated even more than the abundance was the care that was obviously taken. Once he cleared the main room, bathroom, and galley, Bucky had a chance to really look at this guy’s handiwork. The thorns had all been shaved off the stems. There were hundreds of roses in here. It had to have taken hours to smooth all the stems to harmlessness. There was a bottle of wine on the counter, which Bucky dumped down the sink immediately, and a card which he was careful to only touch with his gloved metal hand in hopes that the police might be able to lift something from it. Inside, all it said was “I know you’re more than skin and bone. I love every part of you.” 

Feeling physically ill, Bucky wrapped it carefully in a towel and began to gather the roses. He fit as many as he could into the little trash can, but this was going to take more than one person. Stepping up to take the driver’s seat where he had a clear sight line to Steve, Bucky pulled out his phone to call for backup. He knew he probably shouldn’t abuse his connection to a billionaire tech genius superhero, but he didn’t know anyone else besides doctors. Stark had a car to their location in just under ten minutes and Agent Nat had done a brilliant job of getting rid of the fans. Unfortunately, Steve seemed determined to get some things from the bus and wouldn’t let Bucky pack the bag for him. He stopped dead when he saw the sheer volume of flora littering the bus. Bucky only crossed his arms, broadcasting a very angry _I told you so_ to anyone in sight. 

Steve was silent and didn’t argue again once he packed a bag with a fresh set of clothes and the notebook Bucky was fairly certain contained the majority of the songs he’d written. He could have gotten that, something he would’ve reminded Steve if he wasn’t so angry and if Steve didn’t seem frightened enough already. 

Bucky handed the note to the redhead with a quick, “This is evidence. Make sure it gets to the proper authorities. Don’t touch it.” 

Subconsciously, Bucky placed his flesh hand on the small of Steve’s back to guide him toward the car (he was pleased to recognize Happy, Stark’s personal bodyguard, and wondered if the billionaire was in town), but Steve had other plans. As soon as he felt the touch, he turned into Bucky, shaking as he buried his face in the ex-assassin’s chest. Bucky didn’t miss a beat, wrapping his arms around the musician and burying his nose in his hair. “You’re safe,” he murmured quietly, anger finally under control. “No one’s getting near you, okay? No one’s getting through me without your say-so and I ain’t going anywhere.” 

Steve took in a deep breath that whistled in his nose before pulling away just enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I know,” he replied, and Bucky returned the small smile shining up at him. 

“Come on, we’re going to a hotel,” Bucky said quietly. “We’re not staying on that bus tonight.” 

Steve nodded and leaned into Bucky again before leading his own way to the car. He smiled at Happy and introduced himself, thanking the man for the ride and it was too damn soon after that hug for Steve to be going full Apple Pie Darling for Bucky’s heart to take. Couldn’t the punk give him a minute to recover? 

Apparently he was doomed to spend the night in his own personal hell because this car was really only built for two people. Their knees kept brushing together and Bucky finally shifted with an awkward apology to lean into his door a bit. Steve didn’t say much, just clutched his bag and stared forward to see where they were going. Bucky couldn’t fault him for that since he was doing the same thing, only with glances to the sides to make sure they were safe. He trusted Happy more than most, but not enough to relax until they reached the hotel, which Stark had apparently booked and paid for. 

“Uh,” Steve hesitated when they arrived. “I can’t afford this place.” 

“You’re a famous pop star, you can afford anything,” Bucky replied dismissively as he got out of the car, surveying their surroundings before letting Steve out. 

“I’m not that famous,” Steve insisted as he got out, “and my albums definitely don’t make enough to stay in a palace like this.” 

“It’s taken care of,” Bucky insisted, tugging Steve behind him. “Can we please get off the street now?” 

Steve complied if only because he’d finally realized the tactical danger in being out in the open like they were. The first thing he did once they finally got to a room was check the closet, bathroom, under the bed, and made sure the window was secure and covered by the heavy curtains. That was when he realized. He checked under the bed. _The_ bed. Just one. One bed. 

Without so much as a discussion, he settled into the chair in the corner and pulled out his tablet. Steve got the bed. It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t about to put Steve and his crooked spine into a chair for the night. Steve sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, watching him and Bucky realized he probably had questions, so he looked up. “You okay?” he prompted. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, in a voice that was not remotely convincing. “I just… I guess I didn’t realize just how, um… intense…”

Bucky gave him an appraising look. “Yeah,” he agreed, and decided not to mention the thorns in case Steve had managed to miss that detail. “Stalkers are serious. That’s why your people hired me.” 

Steve nodded, his head hanging at the reminder that Bucky was hired help. “Can you just answer me one thing?” he asked, and Bucky knew whatever it was, he wasn’t going to want to. “Are we friends or are you just nice to me because it’s your job? I just… it seems like you actually care.” 

“It’s my job not to care,” Bucky hedged, and that had been the wrong answer. He could practically see Steve’s heart breaking as he opened his mouth and uttered some kind of platitude that Bucky wasn’t going to allow. “Of course I actually care, pal. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I practically expect birds to start flying around your head singing backup any time you play a show. You’re a fucking saint and you deserve real friends and not just hired help.” 

Steve smiled a little. “You make it sound like it’s impossible for me to be friends with coworkers.” 

“Yeah, well it’s hard when your coworkers work _for_ you, Stevie.” 

“It’s not like I have time for anyone not involved in my tour,” he pointed out. 

“I already agreed we were friends, didn’t I?” Bucky muttered, turning his attention to the tablet. This was basically the conversation they needed to have, but somehow it wasn’t turning out how Bucky wanted and he didn’t actually want to have it. 

“You… didn’t exactly. And if we’re friends, why do you call me Stevie when I call you Barnes?” 

“I call you Stevie because you’re a punk and it fits,” Bucky threw back as he started scrolling through his Tumblr dash. One or two recordings of Steve’s set were circling, along with some tour dates and an analysis he’d seen floating around gaining commentary on Forgive the Children’s lyrics, but nothing much else. He was worried about what was going to happen when the fans realized showing up at Steve’s tour bus had gotten them autographs this time. It meant more would start trying it and he wanted to be one of the first fans to reblog with a suggestion that maybe Steve deserved a break after performing for them. He looked up when Steve didn’t reply and sighed at the forlorn look on his face. “Bucky.” 

Steve looked up. “What?” 

“My first name is Bucky. If you’re going to insist we lose any pretense of professionalism, you might as well call me Bucky.” 

Steve’s smile was almost blinding and Bucky knew it had been the right answer, but Jesus he hadn’t been prepared for a reaction that big. “Thanks, Bucky.” 

“Yeah, you got it, pal.” 

He refreshed the dashboard and, sure enough, the first post of someone’s autographed tour poster had made it up with a story about how sweet and generous Rogers was, and his favorite blog (Steve-RogersThat) betrayed him by revealing they were going to try to meet Steve after the show in their hometown of Charlotte tomorrow night. Bucky groaned and slid down his chair. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Your fans think they can mob the bus now,” Bucky grumbled. 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky paled a little. “I follow posts on the internet.” 

Steve got up and Bucky tilted the tablet against his stomach, not fighting as hard as he should have when Steve reached for it. “Is that… Tumblr? Buck, the PR team-“

“I don’t post original content,” Bucky defended himself. “Just repost things to make sure I look like a real blog. This is work. I’m working.” 

Steve actually laughed at him and sat on the armrest of the plush chair. “Let me see. What are they saying?” 

“I’m pretty sure if they knew you were looking, they’d be saying ‘Oh, God, no, this is our sacred space where we can freak out about an artist without worrying about them thinking we’re too enthusiastic.’” 

“Buck.” 

The nickname for his nickname about did him in. “They’re saying the usual. You’re so sweet and generous, look at you giving up your personal time to meet fans and sign autographs when you must be so tired…”

He refreshed the page to prove it and, “Fuck.” 

There was a blurry picture of the two of them hugging in the parking lot sharing a post with a second image of the moment Steve had pulled away to look at him. Without the context, it absolutely looked like two lovers staring longingly into each other’s eyes like the caption suggested. Bucky closed the app immediately, but not quickly enough to miss the tags suggesting maybe Steve was so private because he was gay. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” Bucky ground out the next morning. “That was a joke. It’s not something real people actually _do_. It’s idiotic, at best.” 

“Barnes, we’re not asking you two to do anything you weren’t already. All you have to do is get caught holding hands or something.” 

“I am not pretending to be Rogers’ boyfriend,” he growled. “If we pretend to date, we have to pretend to break up, and I don’t need half the internet sending me death threats for breaking Steve Rogers’ heart!” 

Steve decided to chime in then. “Look, Bucky, I’m not thrilled about it either, but we already established that telling the public about my stalker might send him over the edge.” 

“What, and you suddenly having a boyfriend wouldn’t?” Bucky grumbled. Steve was right. Being publicly labeled psychotic and being told Steve wanted nothing to do with him would probably have really dire results. Plus, if Steve ever dated anyone for real and it came out before his stalker was locked up, whoever he was dating was a target. At least Bucky was bait that could defend himself. 

“It’s just pretend,” Steve mumbled. “It’s not like you’d really be dating me.” 

And fuck if that wasn’t exactly the thing to say to get Bucky to calm right down into protection mode. Any time Steve got down on himself, Bucky had to fix it and he was starting to wonder if America’s Angel knew and was exploiting this fact about him. “Fine, but only because it’s going to make me more of a target than you,” he agreed, knowing Steve wouldn’t like that and therefore he had once again won the war if not the specific battle. Judging by the reaction on Steve’s face, it had gone over exactly the way Bucky had planned. 

That was how they found themselves at a Starbucks later, a crowded one with a long line to give people as much chance as possible to recognize Steve with his “disguise” which was just a baseball cap. They had to at least look like they were trying to be discreet, anyway. Unfortunately for Bucky’s nerves, they made it all the way through the line, got their coffees, and were out the door without anyone recognizing Steve. They started walking, and Bucky pointed out a used record store at the end of the block. Steve actually grinned. “Will you let me buy you a CD?” 

“That’s kind of weird, but alright,” Bucky agreed. 

“Weird is you not knowing any music at all, Buck. It’s like you purposefully avoided it your whole life.” 

Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. This was personal territory, the kind of thing that could get him into hot water. “I do know some songs,” he mumbled self-consciously. 

“I’m not talking about my stuff that you have to hear at every show,” Steve retorted. 

“Neither am I. Mostly.” 

“Bucky, you’ve never heard American Pie, Hallelujah, Living on a Prayer, Eye of the Tiger, Carry On Wayward-“

“Alright, I get it, I’m a fucking heathen. So give me a CD and I’ll listen to it while I’m keeping an eye on your nosy goddamn fans who for some reason need to take pictures of you without asking and then post them on the internet.” 

Steve laughed and shoved him playfully. Bucky couldn’t entirely suppress his own grin. At this point, the real reason he hated this fake dating thing was that it was fake. After four months of spending almost every one of Steve’s waking minutes together, he could no longer deny that he had more-than-friends feelings for him. At least it would help sell their fake relationship. 

No one recognized them in the music store either, which was fine with Bucky because he was starting to enjoy spending the day with Steve like real people, even if they weren’t and it wasn’t a real day out. 

“David Bowie,” Steve tried, going ballistic when Bucky shook his head for what felt like the hundredth time. “Bucky, what the actual hell? Michael Jackson?” 

“What about you?” Bucky bristled. “How about… the Andrews Sisters. Charlie Parker. You know them?” 

“I mean, kind of, but I’m not an old man so not really,” Steve threw back. “Okay, let me just find some kind of compilation album or something.” 

Steve was shaking his head and Bucky was left wondering if maybe he liked music before his mind was taken from him, because he could almost hear something attached to the names he had given Steve. He let Steve go past the end of the alphabet while he went to the beginning and found something called Greatest Hits by the Andrews Sisters. Two could play at this game. Bucky didn’t exactly know what move he was making, but something deep in the hidden corners of his mind said this was a winning one. 

They got to the cashier and Steve was eyeing Bucky’s haul suspiciously, as if he hadn’t expected Bucky to respond in kind. Finally, someone recognized Steve. 

“Oh, my god,” the cashier exclaimed and then covered her mouth and swallowed. “Sorry, um. You just. You’re Steve Rogers, and I just want to say I really love your music.” 

“Thanks,” Steve replied, that uncertain, bashful, can’t believe people actually like him and is ridiculously grateful, look in his eyes. She glanced past him curiously and quickly averted her eyes when Bucky caught her looking. Steve didn’t miss it either. “Would you believe this guy has never heard David Bowie?” he asked her and Bucky felt a glare crawling onto his face. “He has no taste in music, and I’m trying to fix that.” 

“You’re only insulting yourself, Stevie,” Bucky drawled, smirking like it was his job. “Because what’s it say about you if I have no taste and you’re my favorite artist?” 

Steve actually giggled and it Did Things to Bucky that he didn’t think could be done, but if this girl wasn’t sold on their relationship now, nothing was going to do it. “Yeah, well I’m not sure my music has much to do with that choice,” he mumbled, cheeks blazing as he paid cash for the CD. 

Bucky took it back. That last comment had definitely sold it. He handed over some cash as well, unable to resist throwing in a, “You know these gals, right? Steve here thinks this is old people music.” 

“Because it is, Buck,” he threw back. “I was born twenty-five years ago, not a hundred.” 

Oh, pal, if only you knew. 

The cashier seemed relieved to not have to answer the question as she passed Bucky a bag with his purchase in it. “Do you have a pen?” Steve asked her and she handed one over. Bucky rolled his eyes over Steve’s shoulder when he saw what the blond was writing. _Thanks for taking my side. Keep on rocking!_ and he signed it. It was actually kind of funny to watch her try to contain her enthusiasm when she realized she had gotten what was probably the most personal autograph Steve had ever given. “You gonna be at the show tonight by any chance?” 

She nodded, trying not to look too eager. “It’s basically my job to go to every concert I can- especially the ones where I can pick up a new album.” 

Steve gave her a genuine smile. “What’s your name?” 

“Heather,” she replied, and it did not sound easy. 

“Well, Heather, let Nat at the merch table know you’re from the CD store. Your album’s on me.” 

“She’s gonna love that,” Bucky mumbled. 

“I can handle Nat,” Steve insisted. “It’s one album. She can take it out of my pay if it’s that big a deal.” 

They both snickered in unison and there was a look on Heather’s face that made Bucky certain this was going to be on Tumblr minutes after they left. The only question was how long it would take to reach his own dashboard and how detailed it would be. 

They got back to the hotel (the bus was still being cleaned and vetted for safety and new security locks) and Bucky immediately pulled out some headphones and his laptop. The tablet couldn’t read disks, but the laptop could. “You’re already-?” Steve laughed and Bucky gave him a serious nod. 

“I always keep my promises.” 

Steve shook his head and grabbed the CD Bucky bought, reading the back of it with an expression that Bucky could only assume was immeasurable joy since he was too busy refreshing an app, looking for the post. Finally, it arrived. Heather’s Tumblr handle was AllTogHeatherNow and he snickered to himself, ignoring the question Steve was probably trying to ask even though Bucky couldn’t hear him with the headphones. She didn’t give them a play by play, just said they were arguing about music to explain the picture of the receipt Steve had signed (and thank god he’d paid cash so his personal information wasn’t on there), and said _based on some comments_ they were probably together, though they didn’t explicitly confirm it. Steve-RogersThat reblogged begging for details and Bucky glared at her url before following Heather instead of angrily unfollowing his former favorite. 

Just out of curiosity, he dove into the notes and saw a few reblogs speculating on their relationship and Steve’s sexuality. Several people were talking about how amazing it would be if Steve was gay, and a few were adamantly arguing about something called bisexual erasure, and Bucky had to back out because the vocabulary was getting too big for him. He hit pause in the middle of a song about a guy who wanted to hold someone’s hand (too close to home) and took off the headphones to realize Steve had put his CD in the alarm clock radio. Bucky hadn’t even realized it was one of those. “Well, the good news is they’ve bought it and are now arguing about whether you might be bi or gay. Heather seems like good people. Didn’t write out our dialogue word for word, didn’t even mention you blushing or the fact that you implied I’m getting some.” 

“Bucky-!” Steve squeaked and the bodyguard grinned wickedly. They both knew about Steve’s aversion to discussing sex with people he was not having sex with. Whether they both knew how cute Bucky found it was undetermined. “I swear you like getting a rise out of me.” 

“Yep,” Bucky agreed simply, but the effect was ruined as he recognized the song that was playing. He lit up and looked at Steve. “Seriously, how does this music not make you want to dance?” 

“Well, for starters, I don’t dance. That’s one reason I play music. So I don’t have to dance to it.” 

“Everyone dances,” Bucky insisted. “Come on, get up.” 

Steve eyed him suspiciously as Bucky extended a hand and immediately dipped the blond and then spun him expertly. “Bucky, what-?” Steve laughed, clearly as surprised by the dance moves Bucky found in his muscle memory as the brunet was. He grinned, turning Steve again, leading him in the most ridiculous dance that hotel room had ever seen. It was probably the only dance as well, but that wasn’t going to ruin their fun. For a big finale, Bucky spun Steve a little too much and had to catch him as he stumbled dizzily. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Steve by the elbows. 

“You good?” 

Steve shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “You are ridiculous.” 

Bucky grinned back and gently let go of Steve’s arms. “You like it,” he teased Steve. 

“Yeah, but it’s still ridiculous.” 

“You like my old people music,’ Bucky decided. 

“I don’t know about your music, but the spinning was fun.” 

Bucky only smiled to himself as he committed Steve’s breathless and happy grin to memory. Bucky leaned back on the bed, taking a moment to catch his own breath. He hadn’t done something like that, something purely fun since… Well, he knew he had to have done it at some point, but he had no memory of it. The bed bounced a little as Steve collapsed next to him and they laid there in companionable silence for a moment. Steve must have cut the CD since the only sound between them was their own breathing. Finally, Steve was the one to break the silence. “You know, I don’t exactly need this whole bed. You don’t have to sleep in a damn chair every night.” 

“That’s probably what Stark wants,” Bucky mumbled distractedly. 

“Stark?” Steve echoed. 

“Yeah, Stark. Superhero who built my arm? I called in a favor for some security last night and he decided to book one bedroom hotels. Actually, if this fake relationship breaks in mainstream news, he’s never gonna let me hear the end of it. He’ll probably try to take the credit.” 

Steve laughed a little. “Does he even know what he’s wasting his money on?” 

Bucky turned his head and waited for Steve to look at him. “It’s not a waste. Keeping you safe is never a waste.” 

Steve smiled self-consciously and Bucky resisted the urge to touch his face in an effort to soothe the doubt written there. “Thanks, but I’m not actually famous, you know. This tour is to gain popularity, not exploit it.” 

“Yeah, trust me, you have tons of fans,” Bucky insisted. “Innocent sweetheart like you, all you have to do is smile that ‘aw shucks’ smile and they all come running.” 

Steve frowned and Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong until Steve bit out, “I wish you’d quit with that whole innocent angel crap. I know I’m small and weak, but I’m not some pure-“

“Stevie,” Bucky breathed, not realizing what he’d stepped in. “You’re not weak. You’re so strong I sometimes wonder what you need me for- aside from, you know, my great taste in music. I ain’t saying that to patronize you either. It’s so far from my mind that it didn’t even occur to me you might take it that way, okay? I just mean you got this sweet do-gooder vibe about you that draws people in because it’s rare to find something in this world that’s just good. Selfless.” 

That didn’t seem to help either, but Steve said, “Thanks,” in a tone with such finality that Bucky couldn’t find a response. 

How had he managed to fuck up this time? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, for people who don’t YT, here is a link to the track on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/bkumc3izji25t7yucz41xuvut/playlist/2ceFACBy9f7dCykSXjkZoX


	4. Chapter 4

They managed to finish the rest of the tour without another incident. Whether that was because the stalker had made his point, was putting extra effort into planning the next, or the improved security on the bus actually helped, they couldn’t be sure. Even the letters had slowed down. There had only been one, and it had been several hundred words that could essentially be distilled into _Why are you dating him and not me?_

Well, Bucky had signed up for this in every sense. Steve’s Tumblr fans had managed to get the name “Buck” out of Heather and had spent a lot of time arguing about whether or not it was okay for the couple of determined fans trying to find him to be invading either of their privacy. He really, really liked the majority of Steve’s fans. Bucky had stopped making comments to Steve about his goodness and things got back to normal (or as normal as they could for two people who were fake-dating) between them. Steve had taken to making him playlists of songs he thought Bucky ought to know and there was a new one waiting for him beside his bowl of Wheaties that morning. He pocketed the thumb drive with a grin. He liked when Steve made him playlists. The music itself was good, but even better was the fact that Steve wanted to share this with him. 

They danced a couple more times to Bucky’s music, this time in Steve’s living room where they could push the table out of the way and have some space, but the second time Steve’s asthma put a halt to it and Bucky called off any future dance parties. Steve seemed disappointed, and Bucky really shouldn’t have been pleased about it. 

They got into the car to head to the studio and Bucky brought his headphones, ready to listen to the new music on his tablet while Steve worked. A non-fake-boyfriend might like to listen to Steve recording, but Bucky hated it. Hearing one layer at a time, multiple takes… it drove him nuts. He would just wait for the final product. 

The benches outside the studio kept the entrance in his peripheral vision which was less than ideal, but at least it gave Steve the illusion that Bucky wasn’t tracking his every move. The only reason they hadn’t killed each other yet was that A) Bucky was an enhanced super soldier whose job it was to make sure Steve lived, and B) they had this time apart to be their own people. 

It also meant that no one noticed when Bucky tensed, paralyzed by his own mind because it had never occurred to him that his trigger song was something Steve would put on a playlist. He’d never thought to make a request like not giving him a certain song, had never thought Steve could even accidentally harm someone, and now he was paying for that mistake. His eyes were wide as he stared unseeing at the wall across from him, his heart hammering, his brain filled with thick fog, and his skin crawling and prickling with the sensation of knives. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear the rest of the playlist, didn’t know how much time had passed since it stopped playing, and didn’t snap out of it until Agent Nat was slapping him hard in the face. 

“Where the hell were you?” she bit out and he looked at her, barely understanding. “Barnes! Where the hell were you?!” 

“What?” 

She shook her head angrily and took a step back toward the studio. “Get your ass moving. The ambulance is here.” 

“Ambulance?” he echoed. 

“Yes, the fucking ambulance. For Steve, who was attacked while you were zoned out.” 

That got Bucky’s attention. He stumbled to his feet, feeling extremely cold and slightly numb, like his legs weren’t a part of his body. He could feel the impact of his feet walking, but it was like they belonged to someone else. He glanced into Steve’s studio as he passed it and saw the splintered remains of his guitar. Oh, god…

Steve wouldn’t even let someone else carry it while it was in his case. For it to be broken, there had to be some real danger. Steve had to have been scared out of his mind, and where the fuck was Bucky? Useless and incapacitated by a few fucking notes in the corner. 

He forced his way into the ambulance, not willing to leave Steve’s side again under any circumstances. He must have looked extra murderous because they didn’t fight him on it and worked around him, even though he insisted on being close enough to hold Steve’s hand. Steve was unconscious, buckled into a seated position, and didn’t appear to be bleeding though there was a darkening bruise on his cheek in the same place where Bucky had hit him the time Steve had woken him from a nightmare. The chances of Bucky sleeping well in the near future were going pretty much to zero after this. 

He squeezed Steve’s hand in an effort to ground himself, focusing on the people speaking around him and the physicality of being there. Steve had a mask over his face, and they were saying something about hydrocortisone not working, asking for an adrenalin shot. Was this an asthma attack? Bucky switched to rubbing the back of Steve’s hand gently because his emotions were making it too dangerous to squeeze. Absently, he thought that this was something else that would sell their fake relationship if anyone were there to see it. He was glad there wasn’t. Steve wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this. 

Finally, he heard a little wheeze and the medics rushed to run other tests that Bucky was ignoring in favor of watching Steve’s chest rise and fall. Once they finally got to the hospital, he was separated from Steve, but only by glass. Bucky stood too close to it, staring at Steve’s ribs to make sure they kept up the expanding and contracting, only sort of paying attention to his surroundings. He was next to the only way in or out of Steve’s room and he had some fear and anger to burn, so anyone trying to get past him for nefarious purposes was going to hurt. 

“What was that?” 

He jumped, startled at Agent Nat’s sudden presence and gentler tone. 

“Pretty sure it was an asthma attack,” Bucky informed her, his voice tight with the need to make someone pay for this so it would feel less like his fault. 

“I meant you,” she corrected him. “Sorry I was so rough on you, by the way. It seemed like the best way to snap you out of it. You were having some kind of dissociative episode.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” he lied, the falsehood tasting bitter on his tongue, but not as terrible as the truth would have. 

“Barnes, I think it’s about time to let you in on who’s in charge here. There’s an initiative-“

“Romanoff,” he interrupted, and the use of her surname instead of the playful nickname he’d given her actually startled her into silence. “Not now.” 

“Rogers isn’t the end game, Barnes,” she insisted. 

“He is for me.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before he realized his mistake. Fuck, he was so fucking fucked. They were going to fire him, get a restraining order, he was never going to see Steve again. “I- I mean, he’s an assignment. I don’t fail my assignments, A-agent Nat.” 

“Barnes, I don’t care if you have feelings for Rogers, okay? He’s a sweet guy and, actually, it’d probably only help our case if you did.” 

“Case?” Bucky repeated, feeling more and more like he couldn’t speak properly unless it was just to reiterate what had already been said to him. 

“Yes, Barnes. This assignment was us trying to prove to the people upstairs that you’re ready to get back in the game, that you’re a good guy, that we can trust you. Tony and I-“

“Wait, Stark-?” he interjected. 

She sighed. “Yeah, Barnes. Will you let me get the pitch out?” 

“No,” he replied flatly. “I’m not leaving this assignment.” 

“Okay… You know we’re going to find whoever’s sending those letters and have them locked away for a very long time, right?” 

He finally looked her in the eye and didn’t like what he saw. “You’re not actually the kind of agent Steve thinks you are, are you?” The look on her face was answer enough. “He doesn’t have enough fake people in his life? You have to go and- and-“

“Barnes, this is not about Steve.” 

“The hell it isn’t,” he gritted out. “I’m not interested in your initiative, so you can fuck right off.” 

She looked like she was going to argue and thought better of it. Good. Even if he was interested, pushing him now wasn’t going to go well for any of them. The guilt was eating him alive and he didn’t have room for anything but Steve right now. It was unhealthy and stupid and his doctors would have a field day if they knew how much importance he’d imbued to an asthmatic with a possible axe murderer after him, but it didn’t matter. Steve saw Bucky, treated him like a person, like someone who deserved something besides pain and orders. If that wasn’t worth burning whole cities to the ground, what was? 

A little voice in the back of his mind suggested maybe he shouldn’t burn anything to the ground at this juncture, and he mentally glared it into silence. 

An hour passed before Steve woke up and Bucky became very suddenly aware that he might not be the only one who thought Bucky was to blame and shrank back until he was pretty sure he could see Steve without the opposite being true. He watched as two doctors (or nurses, Bucky didn’t know how to tell the difference) went in to see him. A few minutes later, one came out and looked around the hall. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, but she latched on to him anyway and began to cross the hall. He braced himself for anything- except what was actually coming. “Are you Bucky?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, he wasn’t wrong about the murder-look,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “If you have a moment, he’s asking for you.” 

Bucky had expected to be sent away or punished- which he supposed might still happen- but instead he was being rewarded with Steve’s presence. Tentatively, he entered the room and the other woman introduced herself as Doctor Temple and shook his hand before leaving him with a warning not to get Steve too worked up. 

The door had barely shut before Bucky was apologizing. “I’m so sorry, Stevie, I’m so sorry.” 

He didn’t even realize until Steve reached out how far away he was standing, as if he was actually afraid of Steve. He only hesitated a little as he moved toward the man in the bed and gripped his hand with his own. The metal one whirred at his side in protest of being left out, but Bucky wasn’t letting the extra strength anywhere near the man he loved while he was lying in a hospital bed. 

Fuck, he hadn’t just thought that word about Steve. He really had to not think those thoughts. 

“What happened?” Steve asked, and it was the worst thing he could have asked Bucky. There was no right answer. He couldn’t tell Steve that the right chords would completely turn him off, lock him inside a hellscape that only existed in his mind. 

“I couldn’t get to you,” he choked out, because it was the only truth he was ready for Steve to hear. 

Steve squeezed his hand. “You tried though,” he said quietly, more to himself than Bucky. 

Bucky who couldn’t leave well enough alone. “I didn’t know it was happening,” he said, his voice shaking. 

Steve frowned and his grip slackened. “So much for not going anywhere.” 

“It wasn’t like that, Steve,” Bucky promised. Maybe if he hadn’t been tortured into an emotionally repressed machine of a human, Steve would have realized Bucky was breaking apart inside, but not even Steve could see through him right now. Part of Bucky was still cloudy from his episode, and it made him strange, made his distress over Steve seem more like he had something to hide. 

“We’ll talk later,” Steve said, his voice hard. “Can I trust you to do your job today?” 

Bucky opened his mouth- to say what, he didn’t know- and closed it again, feeling properly chastised. He nodded. “Yeah, Steve. I won’t let anything else happen to you.” 

The lack of trust hurt and Bucky almost laughed at the version of himself who walked into this hospital room thinking seeing Steve was a reward. This had been more like a dagger to the gut- a feeling he knew better than most living people. He returned to his corner in the hall, trying to focus on his task and not the sinking feeling that someone was going to come collect him and put him through the chair, wipe him and start over. Not that he had the memories to prove it, but he was certain this was the biggest fuck up of his life and there was nothing he could have done to stop it. There was nothing he could do to fix it except tell Steve everything, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell Steve he was a monster, about the things he’d done. It didn’t matter that he was forced to do them. If Bucky, who knew as certainly as he did that he had no choice could not forgive himself for the lives he’d taken and the people he tortured… how could someone who hadn’t lived it? 

By the time Steve was released the next morning, they still weren’t speaking and Bucky’s eyes were burning from the lack of sleep. His legs actually hurt from standing on the hard tile of the hall all night, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. At least he’d worked out a way to tell Steve the truth without revealing his past. Too bad Steve didn’t seem interested in talking to him. 

Without a word to Bucky, Steve walked past him and went straight to his room. Bucky could hear the audible click of a lock and sank into the couch. His brain still wasn’t right. Sleep might help, or it might just cause him to wake screaming and even more dysfunctional than he already was. He recognized that he should probably call one of his doctors, but he was also determined to punish himself. Time stopped meaning anything and his brain stopped almost as solidly as it had when that song had hit him so that by the time Steve emerged that night, probably because he hadn’t eaten, Bucky didn’t even look up at him. Steve was ignoring him now, treating him like furniture even though he wasn’t supposed to be good at it. Apparently all Bucky had to do was get him hurt by letting a threat through. 

There were sounds in the kitchen of Steve making something to eat, probably to drink as well, but it all faded to static. Bucky was not alright. Steve needed someone competent right now. He was in danger and Bucky couldn’t protect him, not like this. He was working up the nerve to fish his phone out to call his doctors when he heard Steve approaching with an, “Okay, let’s talk.” 

Bucky didn’t move. He couldn’t even move his gaze from the knot in the wood on the table and it was several seconds (at least, that was Bucky’s guess, because time had lost meaning) before Steve realized he wasn’t just too ashamed for eye contact. 

“Buck?” 

Steve was approaching, sandwich forgotten on the table beside the knot Bucky couldn’t look away from. His heart rate picked up and his eyes widened a little, but for the most part he couldn’t move. He willed himself to back up, to at least meet Steve’s eyes to try to get him to stay back just in case Bucky came out of this swinging, but all he could do was feel his heart hammering into his ribs as Steve’s small frame drew nearer and nearer. 

“Bucky, you’re scaring me.” 

_You and me both, pal._

Steve’s hand gently brushing against his jaw was what finally snapped him out of it. He gasped in air, clenching his hands at his sides in an effort to not hurt Steve any more than he already had. Finally, his eyes shut and he leaned forward, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

Steve was calling his name again and Bucky shook his head, “They shouldn’t have put me in the field, they should have kept me longer, they didn’t fix me…” He barely managed to stop the words streaming from his mouth. 

“Bucky,” Steve said, more forcefully, grabbing the soldier’s face in his hands, his own expression fearless, which didn’t help Bucky’s own fear at all. “Talk to me.” 

“Please back up,” Bucky begged and Steve let him go like he’d been burned. Whatever guilt he felt over that was nothing compared to the fear that he might accidentally lash out right now. Sure that Steve was going to stay back for now, Bucky dropped his face into his hands and struggled to bring his breathing to a steady, slower pace. It was probably several minutes of Bucky hiding in his hands and Steve waiting patiently before he was finally calm enough to trust himself to look up. “I’m sorry,” he told Steve in a subdued voice. 

“What just happened, Buck?” 

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, feeling far too tired for this conversation. Then again, maybe tired was exactly what he needed. If he was tired enough, he didn’t have the energy to be scared of Steve. He was scared of Steve, for fuck’s sake. Steve who saw the best in everyone and didn’t have a mean bone in his body. “This was my first assignment since being released from the hospital,” Bucky admitted. “I was basically a POW for… a long time. Something triggered me yesterday and I… I didn’t leave you, Stevie, I swear I would never leave you, not on purpose.” 

Bucky couldn’t read the look on Steve’s face, but he couldn’t imagine Steve not forgiving him unless he thought Bucky was lying. Finally, he spoke. “Can I hug you or do you still need me to stay back?” 

Bucky let out a watery laugh. “Please give me a fucking hug.” 

Steve casually slid onto the couch next to him and tucked into his right side. Bucky put his arm around the smaller man and buried his nose in the blond locks. “I’m never gonna stop apologizing,” he said, voice muffled in Steve’s hair. He almost told Steve he loved him, but bit back on the impulse. They were fake-dating. Fake. Just because Steve was physically affectionate didn’t mean he returned those feelings. Hugging didn’t mean anything except hugging. 

“I forgive you,” Steve said, and Bucky believed him. Goodness came as easily to Steve as killing came to Bucky. He was never going to be worth the man in his arm. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Buck. It turned out okay.” 

Bucky didn’t reply because it didn’t feel okay. Thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to require a response and he was allowed to just hold the man and breathe him in. For a while, he could pretend that maybe this was something he could ever have. He felt good, truly good like this, and he wanted to imagine a world where he deserved to keep it. “So how do we fix this?” Steve finally asked. “Do you know what triggered you?” 

Bucky hesitated just long enough that Steve would know it was a lie if he said something that wasn’t upsetting. “There’s a song,” he replied quietly, keeping his eyes closed. “I should have told you about it, but I just… didn’t think. One of my handlers thought it was funny to play it while torturing me.” 

Steve tried to pull away to make eye contact, but Bucky held him just tight enough to get the message across. Steve hugged him a little tighter, so Bucky knew it had gone across. “It wasn’t my stalker yesterday,” Steve finally said. “I probably should have told you but it was… I mean, it’s not captured and tortured at war, but it’s not something I talk about. My, uh. My ex. He was abusive and yesterday he was violating his restraining order.” 

“You want me to kill him?” Bucky offered. He was only half joking, and he’d let Steve decide which half to believe. 

Steve laughed, having clearly chosen the joking half. “If he does it again, I’m pretty sure you can just glare him away.” 

There was pain in Steve’s tone and Bucky hated it. Without realizing it, he planted a kiss in Steve’s hair. “Sorry, that was weird,” he apologized. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve assured him and there was something in Steve’s voice that was fluttery instead of pained that made Bucky feel fluttery too. He wanted to ask if it was okay in that Steve forgave him or if it was okay in that Steve wouldn’t mind it happening again. But Bucky could live without planting gentle kisses in Steve’s hair. He could not live without Steve, and asking for more when there might not be more to give might result in having everything taken away. Steve wouldn’t do it on purpose. That was just how Bucky understood relationships to work. If Steve found out Bucky had unreciprocated feelings, they couldn’t be friends anymore. It would be the same if Steve found out his friend was a cold-blooded killer. 

The weight of all his secrets was starting to feel like too much, but Bucky was pretty sure losing Steve would be worse. He probably needed more friends. Putting everything on Steve (even if he wasn’t aware of it) wasn’t fair to the blond. He thought again about Romanoff’s proposal about her initiative that Bucky didn’t let her properly explain. Maybe he should entertain the idea as a possibility. After all, the goal was to get Steve’s stalker out of the picture so that he’d be safe and, at that point, he probably wouldn’t be allowed to spend every moment of the day near him. 

“Which song was it?” Steve asked quietly, after another long moment. Bucky startled a little, realizing he had nearly fallen asleep around Steve. 

“I uh. I don’t know the name of it. Just… lots of stuck in the middle… I don’t…” He trailed off, taking in a breath as he tried to think of other songs that wouldn’t get stuck in the m- in his head. Or would, but were songs he liked, songs that reminded him of Steve, songs that wouldn’t incapacitate him. Steve squeezed him a bit and that helped. Bucky squeezed him right back. “Thanks. That… it helps.” 

Steve squeezed him again. “I’ll remember that. Tomorrow you should sit in the booth where we can see each other,” Steve said. “I’m gonna need a friendly face as I learn my way around a new guitar.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky replied, his voice as forlorn as Steve’s. 

“It’s not your fault, Buck. Given the choice to save myself or the guitar… it was kind of a no-brainer. Wish I’d tried hocking a keyboard at him first, or maybe the music stand, but unfortunately I don’t strategize too well under pressure. I used to get in fights a lot as a kid. Didn’t like bullies, and not just ‘cause they usually won the fights. Point is… I tend to leap without looking.” 

Bucky laughed a little and felt Steve shiver at the tickle against his scalp. “Guess it’s good I’m here to back you up then.” 

“Pretty sure Nat would prefer if you reined me in.” 

“Yeah, Nat,” Bucky agreed, his mood darkening. 

Steve began absently tracing Bucky’s hand that was draped just past the musician’s waist. “She’s something,” he agreed, not seemed to notice what he was doing or the effect it was having on the brunet. “He had a gun and she just kind of… ninja’d it away from him. It wasn’t even a quick thing, either. It was like watching an action movie or-“

“He had a gun?” was the only part Bucky registered. 

“Oh, um. Yeah. Nat handled it, though. She’s kind of… good at that.” 

Bucky scoffed and Steve shivered again and the soldier forgot he was annoyed as the smaller man snuggled a little closer as a result. “Comfortable?” Bucky teased. 

“Yeah… are you?” Steve asked suddenly, like it had only just occurred to him that maybe Bucky didn’t like this. 

“Yeah,” he assured the blond. “Most comfortable I’ve been since Agent Nat slapped me in the face and started talking about you in an ambulance.” 

“She slapped you?” 

“I like your approach better,” Bucky promised. “No need to search for improvement, Stevie.” 

“I won’t then,” he agreed. “And, Buck? I know I said you could help yourself to any of my books and movies, but I’m putting a limit on that. Don’t ever watch Reservoir Dogs.” 

“Telling me not to do something makes me wanna do it you know,” Bucky informed him. 

“There’s a scene where a guy gets his ear cut off,” Steve explained, and talked over Bucky’s insistence that he’d seen worse, adding, “to a soundtrack of your trigger song.” 

“Oh,” Bucky expelled. Steve squeezed him a bit and Bucky hadn’t even realized he needed it. “Guess that explains why he thought it was so funny.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s not,” Steve grumbled and Bucky didn’t like how morose he sounded. What had Steve thought torture meant? 

“It is a little funny,” Bucky suggested because, if he was honest and the situation hadn’t been so terrible, it kind of was. Except the situation had been terrible and his handler was a giant bag of dicks, so it wasn’t _really_ funny. 

Steve sighed. “I’m glad you can find humor there, just… don’t ask me to.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky promised. “Gotta warn you I’m probably gonna fall asleep if we stay like this much longer.” 

“Didn’t you sleep last night?” The frown was audible in Steve’s voice. 

Bucky shrugged his free shoulder. “Someone had to look after you, pal.” 

“Yeah, the doctors,” Steve agreed. “Jesus, Buck, if I’d known…”

“But you didn’t, so if I’m not allowed to blame myself for you getting hurt when I didn’t know, you’re not allowed to blame yourself for the same thing.” 

Steve huffed. “I’m not sure if it’s more annoying that you’re right or that you’re using my own words against me.” 

“Probably about equal,” Bucky replied sagely. Steve snorted and punched him playfully in the stomach. “Hey now, I thought you wanted me to sleep, why are you hitting me?” 

“Because you’re an asshole, now go to bed.” If Steve hadn’t been laughing as he said those things and ended the hug, Bucky probably would have been worried, but there was fondness mixed in with the amusement. 

Bucky hefted himself up from the couch and headed to his room, feeling a lot better. It didn’t stop the nightmares, but at least Steve was there to wake him up. Thankfully this time, he managed to not take a swing at the guy. “You need me to stay back?” Steve asked uncertainly, hovering just out of reach. 

“Hug please,” Bucky requested, and was rewarded in the best possible way as Steve actually climbed into the bed and spooned up behind him. Bucky shut his eyes and felt every muscle in his body slowly relax at the feeling of the solid comfort at his back. It probably looked ridiculous having Steve, skinny and small, spooning Bucky who was just over six foot and far too muscular to be confused for an unenhanced human, but it felt perfect. He could probably die happy now that he’d had this experience. Turning his head just slightly, he spoke. “For the record, I only asked you to back off earlier because I was having a panic attack and between fight and flight, I’m pretty much always fight.” 

“You were worried about fighting me?” Steve clarified and Bucky’s eyes fell shut again as the words ghosted across his neck. 

“Yeah, like that first time I socked you in the face when you woke me up from that nightmare.” 

“I can handle it,” Steve shrugged as he curled closer, and Bucky shivered as he suddenly felt Steve’s breath on the back of his neck. “Not the first time someone hit me in the face and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” 

“Will be if I have anything to say about it,” the brunet all but growled. 

Steve laughed, inspiring another shiver as goosebumps rose down his spine. “Can I keep you?” Steve asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Pal, it ain’t even a choice. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” 

“What if I try really hard?” Steve teased, laughing a little. 

“Nope,” Bucky decided. “I’m gonna be around and make you laugh until your face gets lines from it so I can point and call you an old man.” 

“Could take a while. I’m only twenty-five, Buck.” 

“Good,” he replied gruffly. “’Cause I’d like to keep you around too, you know.” 

“Well, step one is probably to get some sleep, _pal_.”

Bucky snorted at the emphasis. He draped his arm over Steve’s and covered the smaller hand with his own. “Yes sir, boss man.” 

Bucky didn’t remember ever sleeping so peacefully as he did with Steve pressed up behind him. Especially when Steve was the one to grumble and hit the snooze button the next morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Do NOT read this end note if you haven't seen IW, seriously, stop reading) You should’ve seen the face I made when editing and I changed a thing so that Nat was suddenly saying something about snapping Bucky out of it. Snapping. Snap. Bucky. Out of it. Help.


	5. Chapter 5

The timing of the letters suspiciously seemed to match up with Steve’s ex. Bucky had begun looking into him as soon as he found out about the restraining order (and why no one had told him about it sooner was beyond him, they couldn’t have just put it in the file and had him sign the NDA first?), and tracking his movements to the best of his ability soon after that. He didn’t always have a bead on the guy, but any time he had a location and a letter at the same time, the post marks matched. It wasn’t for certain he was the stalker, but it was a solid lead. There were still letters and emails he couldn’t link, but the evidence so far was not something he could ignore. Which meant it was time to talk to Steve. 

Bucky woke up early to make an actual breakfast involving bacon, toast, and an omelet. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, so everything else needed to be as easy for Steve as possible. He was tempted to make pancakes instead of toast, but he was 50/50 at best at cooking them properly. At least half the time, he just sort of made a mess in the pan and had a doughy version of scrambled eggs. By the time Steve wandered in, with a confused and tired smile on his face, the smell of coffee had reached the living room. “Decaf?” Bucky offered. He hated the concept of decaf coffee, but he hated it less than mixing caffeine and Steve’s heart condition. “I made breakfast.” 

“I see that,” Steve chuckled. “What’s the occasion? I’m not forgetting your birthday or something, am I?” 

Bucky shook his head. He actually wasn’t sure when his birthday was, but he couldn’t tell Steve that. He should probably get his file and see if it had a birth date for him. If not, he’d just make one up. It wasn’t like Steve was ever going to ask for a birth certificate. “Wanted to talk to you about next steps with your stalker,” he explained, trying not to go into too much detail while Steve was barely awake and probably hungry. “Wanted to do it on a full stomach. Full of food with actual, nutritional value. Not dyed sugar.” 

Steve smirked fondly at him and Bucky warmed himself in the expression like a cat in sunlight. “Has there been a new uh… Something worse than what’s already happened?” Steve asked, the light fading from his face. 

“No,” Bucky assured him. “Nothing new, no extra depravity. Even if there was, you know I’ll keep you safe, right?” 

There were almost literal hearts in Steve’s eyes as he nodded to the coffee he was stirring. “Yeah, I know, Buck.” 

Bucky didn’t want to know what was in his own eyes because whatever response he was having to the wishful imaginings he’d projected onto Steve was probably embarrassing. “Good, then eat something good for you because I don’t cook for everyone, you know.” 

“Who do you cook for?” Steve asked, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. He decided to treat it like a real question. 

“Today I cook for you,” Bucky told him as he plated the omelets and added the bacon that had been keeping warm in the oven. “I don’t get too fancy. They taught me some basics in reintegration, but I don’t do it too much. Easier to just eat cereal or order something.” 

“Reintegration?” Steve questioned. 

“Kind of like rehab,” Bucky shrugged. “I’m not sure if that was the official name or not, but it’s one that was thrown around. Therapists, doctors, all the people who helped make me safe for society again.” 

“Remind me to send them all gift baskets,” Steve quipped. 

“Remind you? Remind me,” Bucky threw back. He kept his tone light. He’d been afraid of Steve going mushy or sympathetic, but he didn’t need to be. “Thanks. For not making a big deal out of it.” 

Steve nodded. “If you ever want to talk about it, you can,” Steve told him seriously. “But only if you want to.” 

With a sad smile, Bucky handed him a plate. “Eat your breakfast, punk. It’s gonna be a long day.” 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, both of them too busy chewing to talk. It was comfortable between them anyway. They’d spent so much time together in recent months that it felt unnatural to be without Steve’s presence in one way or another. Silence was basically alone time, right? That’s what it felt like. Shared silence was safe alone time. Steve’s presence felt just as protective to Bucky as anything else could. 

“So, not that I don’t appreciate breakfast, but I gotta admit I’m worried you’re gonna drop a bomb or something,” Steve told him nervously. “You kinda pulled out the big guns, here.” 

Bucky sighed and set his fork down- which, in retrospect, probably didn’t help. He looked up at Steve, focused and intent on discovering any signs of distress before they could escalate. “I’ve got to ask you about Rumlow.” 

Steve swallowed and turned to his food with an unnaturally high-pitched, “Oh.” 

“I know it’s personal and difficult, but he’s a threat to you,” Bucky tried to explain. 

“No, you’re right, I just… Like you said. Difficult.” 

Bucky surveyed Steve silently for a moment. His shoulders were tense and he was maintaining eye contact with the mushrooms in his omelet with far too much intensity. “Come on. Up,” Bucky said, standing from his own chair and tugging Steve away from the kitchen. Doing this across a table wasn’t going to work. It felt like an interrogation and there was no way either of them were going to be comfortable that way. “Might as well do this some place cozy. No need to make it any harder than it has to be.” 

Steve laughed nervously but didn’t object as they sat together on the couch. Bucky didn’t move to touch Steve or hug him even though he wanted to. That self-control was probably going to evaporate as soon as Steve showed signs of distress, but for now Bucky could maintain a professional boundary. 

“So, um. What do you need to know?” 

Fuck, Steve was tense. Bucky was tempted to call the whole thing off and just cuddle him until he forgot Brock Rumlow had ever existed. Too bad it wasn’t an option. Bucky decided to just tear the bandaid off. “I think he might be the stalker.” 

Steve actually laughed. “What?” He laughed again, more uncertainly, when he realized how serious the brunet was. “Buck, there’s no way-“

“Steve, I wouldn’t be asking you to have this conversation if I wasn’t really sure it was possible.” 

“Bucky, he’s… I mean, he’s an asshole, but he’s not a psycho.” 

“Steve, I’ve been tracking him and every time I get a location on him, it matches any postmarks that show up around the same time. It’s not for sure, but it’s pretty likely.” 

Steve huffed in disbelief and shook his head, looking visibly upset. “But why would he? Bucky, he… he broke up with _me_.”

Bucky couldn’t hide his shock at that revelation. In part, he was shocked because he was almost certain it was Rumlow and if Rumlow had cut Steve out… The biggest shock though, was hearing that anyone would ever be the one to dump Steve. “What?” he spluttered out, unable to stop himself. How could anyone land someone as sweet and gorgeous as Steve Rogers and then just throw him away like that? “What the fuck?” 

Steve wasn’t looking at him, which was for the best because Bucky didn’t know what his face was doing. Nothing good, probably. “Yeah, Buck. I wasn’t… I couldn’t give him what he needed, so…”

Steve was picking at the seam on the outside of his knee and Bucky grabbed the hand. He was sort of trying to comfort Steve, but mostly he wanted to shut up whatever voice in his head was making him believe that he wasn’t enough- especially for a giant asshole like Rumlow. “If he is your stalker- and, again, it looks pretty likely- what he needs is professional help. No amount of love can fix that kind of damaged.” 

“Well, that’s bleak.” 

“That’s reality,” Bucky insisted. “The kind of person that covers a bus in roses and leaves you a bottle of cheap moscato-“

“Oh, my god,” Steve blurted out. “Was it-“

Bucky frowned as Steve got up and got up on a chair to reach the cabinet above the fridge. Bucky followed, placing an unnecessary hand on the small of his back. He really had to stop casually touching Steve all the time. It would help if Steve seemed to mind at all. Steve brought out a nearly-empty bottle of Sutter Home moscato and Bucky gave him a meaningful look. “That something Rumlow used to buy?” 

Steve actually swayed a little and Bucky grabbed him off the chair, holding him with the metal arm while setting the bottle down. “Yeah,” Steve replied distantly, seemingly not finding anything out of the ordinary about Bucky manhandling him. “It was… we’d put it in fancy glasses and… It was stupid.” 

“What?” 

Steve shrugged. It was worrying how heavily he was leaning into Bucky, like he couldn’t trust his own legs. “We’d pretend we were in Italy or something. Usually have it with cheap spaghetti and put on cheesy music.” 

“I think we should cancel your session today,” Bucky decided. 

Steve pulled away so fast, Bucky almost had to catch him. “Bucky, if you’re worried about me, taking away my music is the last thing you wanna do. Music is how I cope. If I’m not playing music, I’m dead.” 

“Okay, then we’ll get you there on time,” Bucky promised. “But I think we need to seriously entertain the notion that Rumlow and your stalker are the same person.” 

“Yeah,” rasped Steve. “I just… why? He made it so clear that he… I don’t understand.” 

Bucky put his arm around Steve’s shoulders and grabbed the rest of his breakfast before leading him back to the couch. “It’s probably not something we’re ever gonna understand, pal. Something’s gotten criss-crossed in his mind. It’s only gonna make sense in there. Finish your breakfast. I worked hard on it.” 

Steve let out a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, but Bucky had the feeling there was a wall between them now, and its name was Rumlow. 

Recording went like it always did. Steve did his thing while Bucky sat in the booth with headphones on, listening to the latest mix Steve had put together for him as he scrolled through what the bandom was posting. There was an email from Agent Nat telling him their fake relationship needed more publicity and Bucky might have growled out loud, judging by the nervous glance from the tech at the sound board, but he wasn’t sure because his headphones were full of Kansas, and nothing else was audible. In any case, apparently she’d arranged for some kind of behind-the-scenes to appear on Steve’s VEVO in which he was apparently going to decide to address some rumors. 

Steve was going to love this. 

He didn’t even have a chance to break it to the blond because Agent Nat showed up almost exactly when it was time for their lunch break, script in hand. Steve took it like a champ, and Bucky almost believed that he liked the idea. 

Steve was recording the first part while Bucky dug out a jacket to cover up his arm. He didn’t usually bother with it when they were in the studio since everyone there had NDAs and knew who he really was- at least in relation to Steve. He arrived just in time to see Steve smile and give a tiny wave at him. “So there’s someone I’d like you all to meet,” he told the camera- and dammit, Bucky believed he was truly excited to share this person with the world. Sheepishly, he joined Steve in front of the camera as the guy said, “This is Bucky. Yes, he and I are dating. And, for the record, I’m bisexual, not gay. I’ve heard there’s some kind of argument about that.” 

“They probably want to know if they have a chance when you get sick of me,” Bucky remarked with a smirk. 

Steve met his eyes. “Not gonna happen,” he said. Even knowing their relationship was fake did not help Bucky to not believe him. They were so close right now. They could kiss without having to shift or- Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Bucky forced a smile on his face and elbowed Steve. 

“You ain’t seen how terrible my pancakes are yet. Don’t even turn out round most of the time.” 

Steve laughed a little. “So in spite of his abysmal pancake skills, I’m dating this guy and I’m still asking that you respect our privacy, but we agreed that we wanted to get in front of the rumors, so here’s us doing that.” 

Scrolling through the posts (did they use the caps lock button or did they all just have really muscular pinky fingers?) during the second half of Steve’s recording session was physically painful. He was forced to watch the same gif of Steve looking at him with _that smile_ over and over- which was bad enough. The thing that really killed him though, was the gif of himself (if they were making gifs of him, did that mean he was a meme?) meeting Steve’s eyes and then looking at his lips. Some of them were in disagreement about Steve’s feelings for Bucky, but everyone was in agreement that Bucky had wanted to kiss Steve in that moment- even Bucky. God dammit. 

He must have been scowling more than usual because the session ended early and Steve sat down next to him as Bucky realized the producer and tech had left the booth. “How is it looking?” he asked nervously. 

“Oh, they bought it. Hook, line, and sinker,” Bucky nodded. “Nothing yet on mainstream news, though a few clickbait websites have picked it up. There are gifs.” 

“Let me see,” Steve said, not bothering to wait before taking the laptop straight from Bucky’s lap. He wished it had been on literally anything besides that gif of Bucky with its very large, extremely capitalized, and overly punctuated caption, “HE’S LOOKING AT TEH LIPS!!!!!!!!!! ThEy ArE kIsSiNg!!!!!!!!11” (Clearly that one needed to build up those pinky muscles.) 

Bucky mumbled something that wasn’t really English (or any other language he was aware of) and Steve’s face turned red. “You sold it pretty well,” Steve remarked. 

“So did you, puppy-dog-eyes,” Bucky threw back. “Scroll up. There’s at least half a dozen animals and a few desserts they’re comparing you to.” 

Steve laughed nervously and handed the laptop back. “I think I remember why I don’t go on the internet now.” 

Bucky looked at the screen. “Oh, yeah. Some of them can be a little not-safe-for-work,” he agreed, not bothering to scroll past the fanart someone had already done of the two of them in bed together. To their credit, it was tasteful. Bucky was spooning Steve and, even though they were naked, they were curled and artfully draped so nothing was showing. Probably for the best. It was weird enough seeing himself with two flesh arms. He didn’t need to see himself with someone else’s penis. “Anyway, they got it backward.” 

“Who got what backward?” 

Bucky panicked and immediately shut the whole window as Agent Nat walked in. “Nothing,” Bucky replied way too quickly. She only raised an eyebrow as if to say _Shouldn’t you be a better liar in your line of work?_ Yes. Yes, he should. He certainly was at one point. “The story’s gaining a little traction, at least. If we’re not on the news by tomorrow, I’ll be surprised.” 

“That’s good,” she acknowledged. “Barnes, I’ve got Tony Stark outside, and he wants-“

“My arm’s fine,” Bucky cut her off. She gave him a funny look, but Bucky wasn’t about to tell Steve his agent was an _agent_ or that she and Stark had some kind of _initiative_ and they were _recruiting_. Bucky didn’t want to be recruited. 

“Barnes-“

“Fine, I’ll talk to him, but I’m not changing my mind.” 

He shut the computer and deposited it on Steve because it seemed like the thing to do before stalking out of the booth to find an annoying billionaire playboy superhero to tell off. It was easy enough to find him. Stark practically had an entourage with him in the other booth of the studio. Lucky for him no one else was booked to work that day so he could fill it up with his obnoxious posse. Agent Nat had remained behind with Steve, which was the only reason Bucky had let him out of his sight after the last time. He’d barely been willing to let Steve use the same studio, but the little punk had insisted that he liked the people and dammit if Bucky was going to deny Steve much of anything. 

“Look, Stark, I’m not joining whatever-“

“Relax, Terminator, I’m here because we’ve got a location on this Rumlow guy you’ve been looking for. He’s nearby.” 

Bucky immediately went cold, all business. “Where?” 

Stark gave him a meaningful look, devoid of his usual banter. It was a look that said Bucky wasn’t going to like what he heard. “We’re pretty sure it’s a HYDRA facility.” 

Suddenly it occurred to Bucky that Stark’s entourage was a little too stiff, a little too armed. Had the guy brought backup? Was this the initiative they wanted him for? Or was this for him in case he went nuclear? Maybe both. They were all watching him for his reaction, so he said carefully, “As if I didn’t have enough reason to hate this guy.” 

A guy in the back snorted a little and Bucky’s eyes flicked to him. Carried himself like a sniper, but… was that a quiver full of arrows? Bucky liked that guy, he decided. “Figured you’d want in,” Stark told him. 

“For Rumlow,” Bucky clarified. “I’m not joining your band of heroes.” 

“No one said you were, Sergeant Pepper.” 

The guy in the back snorted again and Bucky narrowed his eyes, liking him a mark less. “Good. Let’s kick this asshole’s ass.” 

“Yeah, consider your invite rescinded,” Stark quipped as they headed out. “You can’t be in our band unless you work on that banter.” 

“My mistake,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I should have thought the _fist_ of HYDRA calling a guy an asshole had its own implications.” Another snort. “You got a name, Arrow Guy?” 

“Hawkeye.” 

“Arrow Guy it is.” 

The answering snort was all the confirmation Bucky needed to know he was okay going into a fight with this guy. “You need to gear up?” asked the other guy who didn’t have a name yet. 

“I’m always geared up,” Bucky replied, not even bothering to explain the two guns and half a dozen knives hidden throughout his person. “But if you’ve got a big gun, I wouldn’t say no to it.” 

“Rhodey, he wants to know if we have a big gun,” Stark smirked as they left the studio. 

It occurred to Bucky as Stark and Rhodey both armored themselves in high tech suits that he should tell Steve he was leaving. Agent Nat was with him, though. She knew exactly why Stark was here. She would keep Steve informed. He got into the back of a car with Arrow Guy and raised an eyebrow when he saw the rifle Stark had brought for him. Running his fingers along it, Bucky was filled with a jealous wanting. It was custom, built with a magnet in the butt that would plant against his arm nicely, a trigger that was big enough for his metal finger, and he had a feeling it wasn’t too sensitive. Stark was good, and he never let anyone forget it, but Bucky’s fine motor control had its limits in that arm. 

By the time they arrived, the two iron men were waiting on the roof, and they stopped waiting. Bucky and Arrow Guy were forced to take up shelter behind the car as HYDRA realized they were under attack. Bucky was focused on his own shooting, but he could still appreciate the cold efficiency and skill that allowed Arrow Guy to nock and fire in one smooth action. He almost caught himself considering joining up just to go to the shooting range to exchange tips with this guy. 

Bucky ran out of bullets in the rifle before they ran out of bad guys, so he used the arm as a shield and pulled out one of his hand guns, heading in to get ready for hand to hand. By the time he was cracking skulls, he’d taken a bullet to the thigh and another had grazed the opposite calf, but it barely affected his fighting. What did affect his fighting was the sudden announcement blaring from the speakers along the perimeter of the building. 

“Your attention please,” the disembodied voice called out calmly, before simply announcing, “ _Sputnik_.”

Bucky went down. 

If his brain had been functioning, he would’ve been pissed as hell that somehow he still had a trigger word in his brain that, after the two years of science and psychology and being forced to confess every horror he could remember, he could still be taken out of play with two syllables. They’d eradicated the ten-word list that made him compliant, that forced him to kill or what-the-hell-ever the speaker wanted from him that he would never otherwise agree to. 

He also would have been worried about Steve if his brain was functioning. Agent Nat was probably good, but no one was Bucky. No one loved Steve like he did, felt an all-consuming need to protect him at all costs. Steve was a pawn to them, just a test for Bucky. They didn’t care about him. They wouldn’t sacrifice for him. 

As it was, Bucky’s brain didn’t function under this trigger so he couldn’t think about any of that. Screaming swam in and out of his awareness, along with faces he did and didn’t recognize. There was a sensation of sidewalk scraping at his flesh under the icy water with him, a feeling that meant he was being moved. Like everything else swimming at the corners of his awareness, it didn’t matter. 

A face he recognized swam into his vision and made something inside him go hot, melting away the ice until everything inside him was on fire. There had been another word. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know he had to kill the people who’d brought him here. 

The Asset stalked out of the building and pulled out his remaining hand gun, aiming for the flyers. “Shit, they got Barnes,” he heard in his earpiece. 

“Who the hell is Barnes,” he muttered to himself, firing again and smiling grimly as he hit one of the thruster’s in the red guy’s boot. He began a whirling, barely-controlled spiral until he landed with the sound of grinding metal. The Asset was then forced to deal with him instead of grounding the other flyer- a task which became much more difficult when his left arm went limp and heavy. Why had his handlers turned off his arm? 

“Barnes.” 

The Asset fired a round at the exposed face, but the mask covered it too quickly and he’d wasted another bullet. Three left. He’d have to strategize more efficiently. 

Arrow Guy, call sign Hawkeye, rose just enough in his peripheral vision that the Asset managed to get him in the shoulder. Two bullets left. One for each flyer. He could not miss again. 

It became irrelevant what he could or could not do with them as flyer number two began firing on him. “Rhodes, hold your fire!” Red was calling, but it was too late. The Asset had taken another hit to the thigh, one each to the gut, chest, and shoulder. He struggled to get a shot off while Red’s mask was open, but missed badly as he went down. 

He struggled to get back to his feet, but his body would not cooperate. The weight of his dead arm dragged him down and he finally lost conscious, fighting every moment to take out the ones who brought him here. 

Consciousness came back slowly and then all at once. Bucky didn’t know where he was or what the mission had been, but he knew he’d failed and he knew what the consequences of failure were. He hurried out of the bed, nearly falling in the process as his thigh reminded him that it was not entirely healed from two separate hits. One felt distinctly worse than the other, like his torso. It felt as though he’d been impaled by an old jousting lance rather than bullets. 

Once he had his back to the wall, he examined the wounds. He was still bleeding slightly under the bandages and the edges were raised as though he’d been shot with fire instead of projectiles. Eyes wide with panic, he looked up to the opening door, seeing the red flyer- no, that was Stark. It was Stark under there, a fact confirmed when the helmet opened. His hands were held up in the universal gesture of _Take it easy, we’re not gonna fight if we don’t have to._

“Stark?” he choked out. Reality was slowly coming back to him. He wasn’t with HYDRA anymore. He was in control. He was allowed to make choices. He had a life, a job… fuck. “Steve?” 

“Rogers is fine,” Stark confirmed, though he looked a little less wary now. “If I let the doc come in and patch that back up, do I need to worry about her safety?” 

Bucky shook his head absently, his brain racing to catch up as the fog of the trigger was finally clearing. “How long? What did you tell Steve?” 

“Relax, Buck-o,” Stark replied. “You managed to do all this damage in time for dinner. We’ll have you home before midnight, pumpkin.” 

Bucky ignored the pet name and repeated his question. “What did you tell Steve?” 

With a put-upon sigh, the man replied, “That things went south but everyone’s fine. That you’re in medical and debrief and he’ll have his bodyguard back as soon as we’re done with him. Barton’s gonna pull through, by the way.” 

“Who?” Bucky asked, before his memories supplied him with the image of him managing to land some of his friendly fire. He and Stark both said in unison reply, “Arrow Guy.” 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be okay, thanks for asking,” Stark replied, reminding Bucky just how shitty of a person he really was. 

No, that wasn’t fair. The small version of his therapists was screaming in the back of his head about that line of thinking. “I didn’t know his name,” Bucky insisted quietly, but he grew louder and turned his glare on Stark. “I didn’t know his name and I just came out of a trigger phase, so the fact that I even thought of Steve is already better than par.” 

“Okay, Barnes.” Somehow he got the idea the billionaire hadn’t been sold, but Bucky hadn’t learned his coping mechanisms like derailing his own shitty thoughts on behalf of other people. He’d done it to survive himself. “Since I’m clearly not up to date on your timeline for this, I’m gonna ask again- if I let the doc in here, do I need to stand guard?” 

Bucky thought it was probably safe, but it had been so long since someone had triggered him, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He hated how vulnerable he felt when he looked up at Stark and asked, “Stay?” 

Thankfully, the man didn’t give him a hard time about it, just gave him a nod and left to get the doctor. He spent the rest of his time with the Avengers (what kind of stupid name-? What were they even avenging?) quietly pliant, letting medical personnel poke and prod and scan as they pleased. If he hadn’t been conscious and aware, Bucky wasn’t sure what the difference would have been between the Avengers and a post-mission with HYDRA. They had him report, and he did so mechanically, vaguely registering hesitance in Stark’s face when he was finally released. Bucky knew he wasn’t dangerous, but he felt cold and mechanical, and maybe that was a sign that he should have asked them to keep him, but he was aware in a way he couldn’t have been if HYDRA had control of him. 

Right? 

Steve was practically vibrating by the time Bucky got home. He nodded to Romanoff and she nodded back, though she made no move to get up. Judging by the phone in her hand, she’d been talking to Stark. Immediately, Steve wrapped him in a hug and Bucky instinctively returned it, though he tensed a little as Steve hit one of his exit wounds. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, but he was still raw and tender. Steve pulled away, looking at him in worry. “They said you were okay,” he stated, his tone only one notch away from accusatory. 

“I’m just fine,” Bucky agreed. “Nothing that won’t be gone by tomorrow.” 

Steve turned to Romanoff and they exchanged a look. The meaning was lost on Bucky, but it made Steve sigh unhappily before leaving them alone. 

“Do I need to stay?” she asked him and his heart fell. 

“Part of me wants to say yes, but no. You don’t need to,” he assured her. 

“Maybe I should. If any part of you-“

“I don’t know if you’ve ever had your brain put in a blender-“

“I have.” 

Bucky swallowed as he took in this new information. It wasn’t thrown at him like a weapon. She wasn’t upset that he’d clearly assumed she couldn’t understand, so he would try not to be as well. “Then you know how it feels after.” 

She contemplated him for a moment before getting up to squeeze his right arm. “I’ll stay,” she decided, not removing the grounding contact of her hand. “Until you trust yourself again. I’ll stay.” 

“Thank you,” he breathed, not realizing until she said it what was really wrong with him. As much as he knew intellectually that he was safe to be around Steve, he didn’t feel like he was. Not after almost taking out Barton. 

She nodded, her hand still on his arm. “Steve can handle it, you know. You’re here to protect him from threats. You’re not a threat.” 

Throat tight, Bucky forced out a pathetic chuckle. “I’m his bodyguard. I’m not actually his boyfriend, in case that slipped your mind.” 

“I know,” she assured him. “I also know you two look at each other the same way whether the cameras are on you or not, so it just seemed worth letting you know.” She finally released his arm. “I’ll be on the couch all night. If you need me.” 

He nodded and glanced anxiously at Steve’s room. “If he comes back out…”

“I’ll tell him they gave you some meds that are knocking you on your ass and he’s stuck with me until they wear off.” 

He gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.” 


	6. Chapter 6

When Bucky woke up the next morning, Steve and Agent Nat were already sitting at the table, both of them eating the dyed sugar that made Bucky’s stomach churn angrily. It bothered him for approximately one second because he forgot just about everything when Steve realized he was up and looked up at him. Horrifically, his brain decided that was the moment to conjure up Tumblr captions about their interview, specifically whoever it was that had decided you could tell the moment Bucky walked into the room off camera because of the way Steve’s eyes lit up. 

It would’ve been way easier to dismiss and forget if he wasn’t pretty sure the timing actually lined up. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked. 

“A lot better,” Bucky replied, glancing briefly to Agent Nat. “Turns out nothing was wrong a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.” 

He grabbed the box of shredded wheat that Steve had left out for him and fixed his own bowl before joining them at the table. Agent Nat drained the rest of hers in an impressive swallow before stating flatly, “I don’t actually have anything I have to do. I’m leaving because I don’t have a death wish and the sexual tension between you two is enough to drown a girl.” 

Bucky choked and Steve went dark red. Romanoff just smirked. “Have fun, boys.” 

Bucky stared, open-mouthed, as he finally understood the depths of Natasha Romanoff’s cruelty. She left the house as if it were just another Wednesday, the click of the lock echoing in the awkward silence. 

“Well, she’s…”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. 

Steve was still red and they were both doing a great job pretending he wasn’t. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve told him. 

“Someone’s got to stick around and watch your back, pal.” 

Steve smiled nervously and Bucky wondered for a moment if maybe he wasn’t projecting, if Steve might actually care for him… like that. If he couldn’t even think the words, he definitely wasn’t going to be able to ask them. Bucky cleared his throat, his mind, and effectively the moment as he stood. “Better put the alarm back on,” he explained. Nat couldn’t reset it from inside when she left, after all. As soon as Bucky went to punch in the code, he stopped. _Disarmed. Zone four faulted_ , flashed across the screen. That was Steve’s room. He reached for his hip, but he hadn’t put his gun back on when he woke up, not in Steve’s house, not with Agent Nat still there. Bucky headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife from the block on Steve’s counter. Steve gave him a frightened look. Bucky placed a finger to his lips and then held up his palm, indicating for Steve to be quiet and still. 

Steve straightened, all outward signs of fear disappearing as he nodded his understanding. God, but Bucky loved this man. Knife angled down for better stabbing, Bucky held it out warily as he headed for the bedroom, feet silent on the floor. His breathing was shallow and quiet, his body coiled tight with readiness. The door was slightly ajar, and he couldn’t see anyone through the crack, but he had managed to clear one side of the room without making his presence known. He knew which half to focus on now. Without another moment’s hesitation, Bucky flung the door open and launched himself toward the unknown half of the room. 

It was empty. Steve had left the window open and the curtain was setting off the motion sensor. _Jesus Christ, Stevie._ This kind of thing was going to send him to an early grave. He shut the window, grumbling to himself as he headed back to the kitchen to give Steve a piece of his mind. Honestly, not only was an open window a safety issue, but it could let in all manner of vermin- aside from the human garbage they were trying to nail for stalking him. 

“Stevie, you-“

The words died on his lips as his eyes fell on what could only be Brock Rumlow, holding Bucky’s gun. If it had been anyone but Steve, Bucky wouldn’t have known whether to be more upset about the threat or the fact that someone was touching his gun. But it was Steve, and Bucky had stopped breathing because, even if it wasn’t pointed at anyone yet, that gun ( _Bucky’s gun_ ) was now a threat to the blond. 

Rumlow looked up at the sound of Bucky’s voice and the brunet actually felt a modicum of relief as his own gun was pointed at his chest. He could survive a chest shot but, more importantly, if the gun was aimed at him, it wasn’t aimed at Steve. “Brock? Brock,” Steve said, and Bucky could hear the waver of barely concealed panic in his voice. Bucky held the guy’s eyes, trying to look as threatening as possible to keep him ignoring Steve, even though he was determined to get Rumlow’s attention. “Hey, look at me.” 

“Shut up, Stevie,” Bucky growled. This was not the plan. Steve trying to redirect attention to himself was not the plan. 

And then, because Bucky was destined to die of a heart attack that day, Steve stood, putting himself in front of the fucking gun. “Brock, look at me, okay? You’re the one I’m in love with, right? Bucky, he’s just a rebound. Because _you_ broke up with _me._ I didn’t want things to end. You know I choose you over him, right? Any damn day.” 

Rumlow gave him a sweet smile, and pulled him into his chest, gun now pointed at Bucky again. Bucky glared like he was hurt and not relieved that the gun wasn’t on the blond anymore. And then _Rumlow smirked_. Bucky knew in that instant that Rumlow was perfectly sane and understood everything he’d been doing. This was a game to him. He was toying with Steve, had to be. Before he even knew what he was doing, Bucky was charging forward, and Rumlow fired a warning shot. 

Steve wrenched away, Bucky’s name on his lips as he met the ex-assassin’s terrified gaze. Rumlow’s grip tightened hard enough to bruise on Steve’s shoulders as the gun found his temple. “Hey, Rumlow, don’t do anything stupid. Steve’s already doing everything you want, right? That’s no fun, huh?” 

Rumlow sneered. Bucky had hit it exactly, then. Rumlow liked finding out what made people tick, manipulating them and warping them until he was in control. Bucky was tense as he thought of what this asshole might have done to Steve while they were dating. Rumlow pressed the gun into Steve’s head and the blond shut his eyes, bracing himself for the end. Bucky took a step forward, reaching out even though he saw Rumlow’s finger wasn’t even on the trigger. “Do I hear an offer in there, buttercup?” he asked. Later, Bucky would wonder how a piece of literal dog shit had become sentient and learned to talk, but for now he had to get it away from Steve. 

“Yeah, the offer is you leave Steve here and take me.” 

“Buck-“ Steve argued, but Bucky was determinedly ignoring him. 

“I think we both know you’re gonna do whatever I say because you want me to leave him alone,” Rumlow pointed out. 

“Which is exactly why you’re gonna leave him here, pal,” Bucky insisted, eyes flaring with rage. “We both know as soon as I think he’s safe, I’m gonna be a hell of a lot less docile.” 

“You I can drop with a word. That’s as docile as it gets.” 

“Ain’t gotta use it,” he pointed out. 

Rumlow laughed and Bucky clenched his fists as the sound caused the gun to grind against the side of Steve’s head. “Well, are you a flirt or what, Asset?” 

“I’m betting his life you want to find out.” 

Rumlow seriously considered the offer and Bucky thought he was going to accept before he pointed and shot Bucky in the head. 

It grazed him, taking a good chunk above his ear as he dodged just barely in time, but he still went down. He was too dazed to move for several seconds- probably, could have been longer, must have been since they were out the door by the time Bucky got his feet under him. They weren’t too far yet though. Bucky could still hear Steve fighting and screaming. Depending on Rumlow’s response, Bucky didn’t know whether to be happy about it or not. At least it meant Steve was alive. 

He grabbed the knife, his gait slightly impaired, but still stealthier than most people would be with a head wound. Rumlow wasn’t leaving this place alive, not after putting a gun to Steve’s head. Bucky didn’t waste time or energy on precision. He shoved the knife into Rumlow’s back somewhere around his kidneys, dipping the blade down to use as a handle to pull him close enough that Bucky managed to knock the gun from his hand. “Bucky, don’t-“ 

Steve was crying. Steve was asking him not to make this kill. Bucky blinked. The threat was over. He didn’t have to kill Rumlow. A hero wouldn’t. An assassin would. Bucky looked at Steve again and made his choice. Bucky was an ex-assassin. He was trying to be a hero. Steve wanted him to be a hero. 

He dragged the knife sideways, slicing deep between Rumlow’s vertebrae and let him collapse. Well, he let him live anyway. He looked at Steve, terrified of his reaction. What if he thought Bucky was a monster? He was covered in blood. Why the fuck was there so much blood? Right. He had a head wound. He’d managed to forget that a little too quickly. Steve kicked Rumlow in the head and he stopped moving. Good. Steve didn’t mind at least a little violence, then. Just killing. Maybe he didn’t mind that Bucky had just paralyzed a guy in front of him. Steve was leading him into the house and pushing him into the couch before shutting the door, locking it, setting the alarm. Good. Good job, Stevie. 

Time was moving a little weird. Exactly how much was he bleeding? Steve knelt on the couch next to him, pushing a towel to the wound as he made a phone call. “Nat?” his voice was shaking so badly. “Nat, Brock w- was here. N-no I’m fine. Bucky’s hurt-“

“I’m fine, Stevie,” he rumbled out. 

“You were shot in the head, you’re not fucking fine!” Steve snapped. “Yes, Nat, he’s bleeding on my couch- yes, I’ve got pressure- can you just get here? Rumlow’s knocked out in the yard, I don’t know for how- Yes I set the goddamn alarms, can you just-? Hurry. Please.” 

Steve tossed the phone down. Bucky wasn’t even sure if he’d hung it up before climbing over Bucky’s lap, holding the towel with his hands on both sides of the soldier’s face. It was helping. “You’re okay, Stevie, you’re doing just fine,” he promised. “I got a healing factor. Probably be scabbed over before she even gets here.” 

“You fucking asshole!” Steve yelled, and Bucky’s eyes widened. “Why did you have to make him angry! You could’ve died!” 

“Didn’t,” he pointed out, feeling bewildered by the anger. 

“Do not joke with me while I am mopping up your blood, you fucking dick!” 

“So it’s okay to yell at me while mopping up my blood, but not okay to make jokes. Got it.” 

Steve let out a broken laugh in spite of himself. “Shut the hell up, I’m angry with you.” 

“I can see that.” 

Steve punched him a little in the chest before folding into him and Bucky let his eyes fall shut as he wrapped Steve in a hug. He was still holding the towel in place and Bucky wondered if it felt as awkward as it looked. Felt damn good for him, but Steve’s shoulder was at a weird fucking angle holding that thing there. 

“Okay, you’re gonna get a crick in that arm if we’re gonna do this. Hang on.” He shifted and turned until he was lying down with Steve on top of him and pressed the towel against the back of the couch with his head. “Might as well wreck the couch properly,” he muttered. 

Steve let out an angry sob. “I don’t care about the fucking couch, Buck.” 

“Obviously. You put a guy with a head wound on it.” 

“Can you just shut up and let me be angry with you for one minute?” Steve demanded. 

“I could try, but it probably ain’t gonna work. Stuff goes into my head and just falls out like I got a hole in it or something.” 

“Oh, my god,” Steve whined and pulled away to try to give Bucky a Serious Look. 

Bucky tried to return it, but between the blood loss and the weight of Steve comfortably on top of him, he was a little giddy. “Sorry, it just keeps coming. If you got any ideas-“

Bucky’s brain shut off. Those were Steve’s lips, right? Steve’s lips? On his lips? Holy shit, those were Steve’s lips. He was just about to start kissing back when Steve pulled away, looking mortified. “Sorry, I thought- I mean, we’re-“

“Not kissing,” Bucky finished for him, feeling the loss keenly. 

“Yeah, I don’t know why I thought that was okay, I’m so fucking sorry, Christ…”

Bucky caught him as he started to get up, like Bucky hadn’t been the one to pull Steve on top of him as if he was the world’s best blanket in the first place. “I swear on my mother’s grave if you leave me alone on this couch before I even have the chance to kiss you back, I’m gonna die right here.” 

Steve actually choked as he turned bright red, but he still wasn’t kissing Bucky again, and that was a problem that needed an immediate solution. Speaking of his mother, she taught him better manners. Probably. Hell if he knew. “Please,” he added belatedly. 

That did it, thank fucking hell. Steve all but launched himself at Bucky and this time he was expecting it so didn’t hesitate before tilting his chin up to return the favor. It felt strange and almost unreal to finally have this when he’d talked himself out of its possibility so many times. He moaned happily at the smoothness of Steve’s mouth and felt Steve’s tongue trace his lip, so he met it with his own tongue. The kiss went on until both of them were out of breath or, more accurately, until Steve remembered he was kissing someone who’d been shot in the head and decided that Bucky wasn’t allowed to get too worked up. He was too happy to mind. 

It was a good thing no one was there but Steve because the smile Bucky was broadcasting was embarrassingly gooey. “Okay?” Steve checked. 

“This is the best damn day of my life and you want to know if I’m okay,” he replied, sarcasm dialed to eleven. 

“You did… get shot in the head.” 

“Only a little.” 

Steve laughed a little and then all the way, burying his face in Bucky’s neck, and that was just as good as the kissing. “Does this mean we can stop sleeping in separate beds because you’re my favorite blanket,” he murmured and Steve laughed again. 

“I know you have a healing factor and all, but I think we should probably have someone check you out. The blood loss is making you weird.” 

“Blood loss shmud loss,” he argued eloquently. 

Steve planted another chaste kiss on him and they heard wheels on the driveway. Steve got up to investigate, but Bucky immediately caught his arm. 

“It’s just Nat,” Steve reminded him. 

“Probably, but you don’t check,” Bucky ordered, his brain forcing itself back into mission mode. The towel had fallen off, forgotten on the ruined couch, but it proved his earlier words right: the wound had already scabbed over. 

Steve placed his palm against Bucky’s chest to stop him, probably directly over his heart on purpose, the sneaky little punk. “Let me handle this one thing,” Steve requested. “I won’t open the door if I don’t see Nat, alright?” 

Bucky wanted to argue, but he could see that this mattered to Steve. And he’d already heard Agent Nat’s voice giving orders, but Steve didn’t need to know that. “Okay, Stevie. But if you get hurt, I’m gonna kill ya.” 

Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead and Bucky was definitely in love with both Steve and their new dynamic which apparently meant casual affection every five seconds. Bucky was pleased at the careful way Steve looked through the blinds through the holes the strings ran through so that he didn’t have to disturb them before he spotted his target and let her in. “So Rumlow’s definitely out of the running threat-wise,” she confirmed. “Nice work.” 

“Ain’t gonna be walking that off any time soon,” he grinned. 

She turned to him, unsurprised to see him sitting up and talking. “I saw that. Coulda killed him.” 

“I’m not a monster,” Bucky replied as if it were obvious and he hadn’t really been on the brink of doing just that. 

“No. You’re not,” she agreed, and he got the impression he’d passed some kind of test he hadn’t known he’d been taking. She turned to Steve. “When I was hinting about banging, I meant you two, not a gun.” 

“Fuck off, Nat,” Steve replied, but his cheeks were pink and not just from embarrassment. She knew exactly what had been going on before she got here because Steve had Bucky’s blood on the side of his face in a mirror image of what was on Bucky’s. 

“Just make sure he has a few hours for his blood to regenerate before you make out any harder,” she teased. 

“What-?” Steve spluttered. 

“Maybe clean up the blood first,” she suggested. “Pretty sure blood’s not a fetish of yours.” 

Steve turned redder than Bucky had ever seen and actually looked upset. She leaned in and whispered something that not even Bucky could hear, but damn did he want to. Did that mean Steve did have some kind of fetish? He began mentally comparing himself to Rumlow, but the only thing they had in common was that they were bigger than Steve. A lot of people were. Was that even considered a fetish? 

Agent Nat gave Steve a meaningful look and Bucky considered that maybe she did care about him as more than a test for Bucky. He hoped so. Steve deserved to be seen as more than a fucking pawn. The blond gave her a weak smile as she left and then reset the alarms. The danger was probably past now, but it wasn’t going to hurt either of them to keep security tight. Besides, if Rumlow really was HYDRA (and his knowledge that Bucky had a trigger word was pretty strong evidence), he had friends who might come after them as well. At least that was what he was going to tell anyone who suggested Steve didn’t need him anymore. 

This time when Steve kissed his forehead, it felt different, wrong somehow. “Get some rest, okay? Now that things are safe, I’m gonna try to get some work done.” 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, though it didn’t feel okay. Steve placed a gentle hand on his face before sighing and grabbing the bloody towel from the crack in the cushions where it had fallen. 

“Nat’s right about one thing, at least.” 

Bucky heard him throw it into the trash with a little bit of violence before opening the drawer and running the tap. He returned to Bucky with a warm damp cloth that he used to gently wipe at the blood, dabbing nervously at the edges of the wound. “If you’re gonna be this nice to me any time I get hurt, I’m gonna have to make a habit of getting shot, you know.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Bucky smiled a little, but Steve didn’t. “What’s wrong, Stevie?” 

“Just… get some rest and we’ll talk, okay?” 

Bucky frowned. Something was wrong and he didn’t want to let go, but Steve had laid out his terms. Bucky didn’t know if they were good terms or not, but he wasn’t about to fuck this up by pushing too hard. The question he was asking himself was whether or not he was about to fuck it up by not pushing hard enough. “You’re not… regretting…?”

“No, Buck. God, no. I’m crazy about you, there’s just… I have a lot of baggage.” 

Bucky blinked, unable to process for a full two seconds. “You’ve met me, right?” 

Steve actually smiled a little and it did wonders for the tension that was building into a headache. (Or maybe it was the hole closing up on the side of his head. Either way.) Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s now clean forehead, then his nose, then his lips. “Get some rest, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Good to know.” 

Steve ran his fingers through the hair on the intact side of Bucky’s head in a way that made his eyes fall shut and miss the part where Steve turned around and started walking. Bucky was so gone on this guy. 

He laid back down after staring at the empty hall for a good minute and actually managed to fall asleep for a while before something jarred him awake. It was silent in the house, but the sun was still up. He lifted himself off the couch, glancing around to confirm that Steve wasn’t in the room. The security was still armed and no zones were faulted, so that couldn’t have woken him. As far as he could tell, nothing was wrong. 

He went to check on Steve anyway and heard the faint sound of him playing music behind the door. It was that same, hushed way Bucky had accidentally caught him before, playing a song that never made it to a show. This one was new, too, and Steve was singing it so quietly Bucky could barely make out [the lyrics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLcOJxXWrLE). Barely. “ _But, ooh, to let you see me. ‘Cause I am not that pretty. Oh, but you will find out and then you will leave me._ ”

Well, that was enough of that. Bucky couldn’t guarantee Steve was singing about anything in particular, or that it was Bucky if it was, but it stopped then. He knocked on the door and heard Steve scrambling to hide the evidence as if Bucky wouldn’t expect to find him surrounded by musical instruments at any given time. Steve opened the door, smiling suspiciously and looking tired. “Buck, how are you feeling?” 

“Like the person I care about most is playing sad songs and trying to avoid me,” he replied blatantly. 

Steve blinked like he was considering trying to brush it off or explain it away, but he sighed and stepped aside, wordlessly inviting Bucky in. The context of him entering Steve’s room had shifted drastically and he felt strangely nervous about it. He’d never been in here before except to sweep for threats. He wasn’t even sure he’d been in here _with_ Steve before. 

Steve opened his mouth to speak and Bucky kept his expression as neutral and receptive as possible. Steve lost his nerve and walked past Bucky to sit on the bed. “Do I get to sit there too or are we not there yet?” he asked, wishing he were better at serious talks. 

Steve gave him an anxious grin and scooted over before tucking his feet under himself. Bucky joined him and resisted the urge to pull him into a hug. Depending on what came out of Steve’s mouth, he might not be able to resist that urge for long. 

“Look, I just… fuck.” 

Bucky wasn’t used to hearing Steve swear this much. He might like it if it wasn’t so clearly motivated by distress. “Look, what little I overheard of that song… I ain’t leaving you, Stevie. Unless you’re about to tell me you’re secretly HYDRA or something, you’re more than good enough for me.” 

“It’s about Brock. Sort of,” Steve told him, but no more words seemed forthcoming. 

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, waiting to see if it would prompt Steve into giving up anything else. No such luck. “Again, unless you were secretly part of HYDRA with that bag of ass crackers, I’m not seeing a problem.” 

“He wasn’t… as abusive as I maybe let on.” 

“Doubt that, but go ahead and enlighten me. How was the guy who just held you at gunpoint not as abusive as you let on?” 

“The stuff he did to me… I asked for it.” 

“No one asks to be abused, Stevie.” Bucky felt his temper rising, and it was going to be hard to hide if he learned much else. 

“In, um. In a kinky way. Some people do. Ask to be abused. I… did.” 

“Wait,” Bucky said as he tried to process, and it was the worst thing he could have possibly said. Fuck, Steve thought Bucky was rethinking everything. “No, not like that, fuck, Stevie, give me a second to think, okay?” 

“Look, Buck, I really like you-“

“Then give me a goddamn minute to figure out how to respond without fucking this up,” he ground out. At least Steve got the message that Bucky wasn’t trying to let him down easy. He waited patiently as Bucky wrapped his brain around the situation. “Steve, I don’t care if you have some secret kinky life. Hell, I’ll try anything for you, but I refuse to believe that fucker never did anything to you that you didn’t want.” 

“Bucky, I’m telling you, I… I asked for it. Every single time.” 

“Yeah, but did you feel good afterward? Because that look you get when he comes up, that ain’t a good look, Stevie. That’s not fond memories. That’s not even heartbreak over being dumped. That’s straight up fear.” 

“If I didn’t like it, why would I keep asking for it?” 

“Because assholes like Rumlow get inside your head. He’s HYDRA. They’ve mastered the fucking art of making people do things they don’t like. Trust me, I know.” 

That at least seemed to land. Steve couldn’t argue with that without hurting Bucky and he wasn’t going to do that. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m not… innocent apple cinnamon?” 

Bucky snorted as Steve mixed up his memes. “You’re Steve. That’s all you need to be. If I want innocent apple cinnamon, I’ll go to the store and buy a damn pie. I’m here for the guy I’ve been falling for over the past almost-year.” 

Steve blinked and his eyes were shiny. He put on a smile that he probably meant to be teasing, but it missed the mark and was just a smile. “Falling for, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been fucked since almost day one. Supposed to be working for this charming asshole, being professional, then I have to pretend to be his boyfriend, next thing I know I’ve been shot in the head and he’s trying to kiss it better.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Of course it fucking did, this punk is pure magic.” 

Steve snorted and Bucky smiled as relief rushed through him. “I just…”

“Thought I was some dick who didn’t know you had a past?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow. He took a breath. If there was ever a time he needed to be serious and vulnerable, it was now. “Stevie, I don’t care about what you did and didn’t do or ask for with Rumlow. All I care about is you now. I care about what hurts you and making it better. I don’t believe for a second that he was good to you, but even if I did, it wouldn’t change how I feel. Is what I’m saying. So. Are we okay?” 

Steve nodded, his lips pressed together in a way that Bucky recognized as indicative of an untrustworthy voice. He lost the battle against his urge to hug Steve and immediately pulled him close so he could bury his nose in those blond locks, unashamedly breathing him in this time. “I ain’t going anywhere, pal.” 

Steve hugged him, squeezing tight before relaxing. “So, um. You could stay here tonight. If you want.” 

“If I want,” Bucky scoffed. He kissed Steve’s hair and nuzzled it for a moment. “I wasn’t joking about you being my favorite blanket.” 

“I mean, you’d kind of lost a lot of blood…”

“Ruined a whole couch,” Bucky agreed as he reached for the blankets. 

“Still don’t care.” 

“Good,” Bucky said. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m gonna take my pants off now.” 

“What’s the wrong way to take that? Just for clarification.” 

Bucky laughed quietly. “Well, I was planning on cuddling you until we fell asleep and the jeans seemed counterproductive.” 

“Bucky, it’s dinner time.” 

“I mean, I guess we could eat first if you’re hungry…”

Steve laughed and climbed on top of Bucky, blocking his hands from his zipper. “What if I’m not?” 

“Then we can skip straight to the cuddling!” 

The look of offense on Steve’s face had Bucky cracking up as he rolled them so that he was on top of Steve. He leaned down to press a slow, gentle kiss to his lips and when he pulled away, Steve looked a bit far away. “You okay, Stevie?” he frowned. 

“Yeah,” he replied and suddenly Bucky realized what the problem was. Smirking to himself, Bucky leaned back down and kissed Steve again, a little less gently and with more pressure between their bodies. Steve actually _whined_. “Buck, if all you want to do is cuddle, you’re really gonna have to take it easy on me here.” 

Bucky brushed his nose against Steve’s before rolling onto his back next to the blond. “Only because I don’t want to rush this,” he agreed. “Also, my jeans.” 

Steve snorted as Bucky brought up the offending article of clothing again and turned to look at him face as he shimmied them off and tossed them on the floor. He wasn’t looking below Bucky’s waist, but at his face. They both smiled as their eyes met, and Bucky wasn’t sure who started it. “I believe you,” Steve told him. What, specifically, he believed from Bucky wasn’t clarified, but it was enough to know that whatever it was, it was important enough to make things better. 

“Good,” Bucky agreed. “Now hug me, blanket Stevie.” 

With another snort, Steve gave in and curled into Bucky’s chest. It was perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify for this chapter’s track: https://open.spotify.com/user/bkumc3izji25t7yucz41xuvut/playlist/7I3UkjLeaW8zDzWcUvQEAw


	7. Chapter 7

Apparently Bucky should have been a hell of a lot more worried about HYDRA’s response to their taking out Rumlow. They had leaked footage from the compound where Bucky had been compromised, showed him grounding Stark and taking Barton out. Then he heard Tony’s damning commentary, _Shit, they got Barnes_. Without context, it sounded like Bucky was a secret weapon to be feared, a surprise that they had expected to be at some other location, not a teammate who’d been hijacked. 

It got worse as the television cut to the news anchors casually airing the clip of the video he and Steve had done to announce their “relationship” as they announced that Bucky’s identity had been revealed. They went on to list his full name, his date of birth, and then started talking about The Winter Soldier. “Documents have been leaked which connect James Barnes, a.k.a. Bucky, to several dozen assassinations, including President Kennedy.” 

“Oh, my God,” Steve uttered, and everything Bucky had slowly, painfully built inside himself since gaining control again shattered into cold nothingness. Silently, he slipped back to Steve’s room and grabbed the jeans he’d abandoned the night before, pulling them on. 

_Steve knew._

He grabbed Steve’s notebook and opened to a blank page to leave a note. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t claim not to be a monster. Even if both of them believed that, Bucky was a danger to Steve as long as those triggers remained active. He knew he’d been bad at the scene, but seeing it… Seeing _Steve_ see it… That drove it home hard. So Bucky scribbled the only thing he could still feel: 

_I’m sorry._

Then he texted Agent Nat a simple “Keep him safe,” before tossing the phone on the bed and leaving through the window. Bucky shut the window behind him, hoping he was quick enough to not set off the alarms. Steve didn’t need that scare on top of everything else. Nat would be there soon anyway. A text like that was going to set off its own group of alarms. 

The first thing he did was hit the locker he’d claimed at a gym he never visited, grabbing the duffle of cash and fake identification. The second thing he did was find a middling hotel that was reasonably priced, but not so cheap that the establishment were looking for criminals or that his former allies might expect to find him. The third thing he did was stare into space and try to figure out if he wished he was dead or not. That was probably an important thing to know. 

He couldn’t figure it out, so he set on a course to figure out what would be worth wishing himself alive for. He cared about Steve. He cared about Steve being safe. HYDRA was a threat to Steve, which meant HYDRA had to go. 

Good, so all Bucky had to do was take out HYDRA. That sounded like a reasonable life goal. 

He stood up, ready to go, and then suddenly realized he had no weapons and no idea where the fuck he was supposed to start to find these people. Was this what going soft was like? Did sleeping with Steve, getting comfortable, letting someone under his skin mean he stopped arming himself? Sure, knives and guns were inconvenient when you were trying to cuddle up in bed with someone, but they were even more inconvenient when you were trying to take out an evil shadow Nazi organization and _didn’t have them._

There were a couple small things in the duffle (mostly ammo he didn’t have a _gun_ for), but nothing that would truly help him take out something like HYDRA. So, okay, step one was now to get some goddamn armaments. Step two would be to get some goddamn locations, and step three? Step three would be to slaughter some goddamn HYDRA agents. These fuckers had taken everything from him too many times. He was doing this as much for himself as for Steve, even if he wasn’t keen on admitting it. 

He spent the day gathering weapons. It was heinous. His face was everywhere and he was recognized at least twice, which meant it was time to leave the city. Bucky hopped a bus to Baltimore- literally hopped it. He climbed up the back of the double decker and onto the roof when they were checking tickets and locked his metal arm into a holding position on the emergency exit for three hours as it travelled south. When the bus stopped, it didn’t look like a city. It looked like a giant parking lot. A parking lot that was just for parking, not for a place people might go. Maybe this was a parking lot for a bus stop. That made sense. 

Bucky slipped off the back of the bus, duffle slung over his shoulder, and felt the prickle of wind no longer buffeting his face or hair. As he reached the main road, lined with trees and not buildings, no public transport to be seen, Bucky began to think he’d possibly made a mistake. How did people live in not-cities? With an angry grumble, he started to walk along the tree line, looking for promising exits and recognizing nothing, though something about the word _Towson_ seemed familiar. An hour later, Bucky found himself looking at a prison, thinking someone had been there a long time ago. Someone who’d shot someone the Asset was supposed to shoot. There was some kind of ghostly anger attached, like maybe the whole thing had been botched beyond repair, but nothing was solidifying for him. 

He growled to himself as he slipped into a bus stop. Someone else was sitting there and had to have heard him, but they just continued to scroll on their cell phone, like this was just another Friday for them. He leaned his head against the metal frame of the shelter, probably not the best plan but it was done now, and tried to stop thinking. That was the whole problem though, wasn’t it? His brain was broken. It had been wiped and reloaded so many times that he couldn’t remember his own birthday, his mother’s face… He wasn’t completely sure if he had siblings or a present father even though he’d read his own file. One word could make him kill the only person he loved, and he’d probably have to live with the hazy memory of it until he died. If he died. What if this aging thing was partly the serum? What if it wasn’t just that he’d spent a large portion of the last few decades frozen? 

Well, it wasn’t like growing old with Steve was an option anymore anyway. 

He stood as the bus approached and saw the guy at the other end of the bench look past him and go back to scrolling. The bus passed without stopping. Bucky felt his jaw drop. “What the fuck?” he muttered, apparently loud enough for his waiting companion to hear. 

“School’s out. Buses are full.” 

Bucky gaped at the guy, who was back to ignoring him, and settled back in. He considered asking how long this was gonna take, but it was pretty clear conversation wasn’t welcome. Then again, he was the crazy guy who growled and talked to himself under his breath. He wouldn’t want to talk to himself either. 

Finally, after what had to be an hour (judging by the moving shadows on the sidewalk), a bus stopped and Bucky tried to hand the driver a five dollar bill. “Exact change,” the driver said and Bucky took a deep breath. 

“I’ll scan my pass for you if you give me that five,” his waiting partner suggested. 

Bucky had a feeling he was overpaying, but he was too tired and impatient at this point to care. The driver let him on and Bucky found an empty seat without any further complications, riding until it started to look more like a proper city. There were a lot of row houses, and he actually saw one with a tree literally growing through the roof. That was… interesting. He got off at the next stop and investigated the run-down section. The house with the tree was condemned, so he immediately went inside and set up shop, ignoring the trash from others who’d had similar ideas. This was his place now. At least until he moved on. 

He took a few days to learn the city, rebuild his weapons cache, find places to eat and places to learn. Bucky had definitely seen worse libraries, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used one. Had the internet existed then? He wished his brain wasn’t so fuzzy. He wanted to remember things on more than a physical level. He didn’t want to worry that one day HYDRA was going to catch him and fuzz out Steve. What if Bucky had had a Steve before? What if Steve wasn’t the first person that he’d loved? Statistically, for someone who’d lived more than three decades as a functional person before being turned into a killing machine, he probably had. And HYDRA had taken that from him. What, besides systematic slaughter, would stop them from taking Steve, too? 

It was a week before Bucky got his first real lead, and another week before he actually managed to find a compound. Two more agonizing days carefully casing the facility allowed him to take out everyone in it in just about an hour. He patrolled it afterward, for weeks during hours when the library was closed. After twenty-three days, his patience paid off and he found another HYDRA agent to follow. This one almost lost him when he got into a car, but Bucky had planted a tracker on him (thank you, Army surplus store) that ended up somewhere outside the city, definitely outside the radius of the buses. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a car. Frustrated didn’t begin to describe how he felt. He couldn’t just steal a car. Police were everywhere, it seemed like. Or the blue-lit lamp posts that he avoided at all costs. And, while Bucky could easily avoid both arrest and death, he wanted to avoid detection more. Finally, seeing another asshole at an intersection pointing at the ground, he lost his temper. “What?” he demanded of them. “What is so goddamn special about the road in this damn city that people are always pointing it out? I know it’s supposed to be Charm City or whatever, but it’s fucking asphalt! There is nothing fucking charming about pavement!” 

They gave him an equally angry look (which was impressive because Bucky was pretty sure he’d just yelled at a teenager who was about a foot shorter than he was) before stalking off. Someone approached uncertainly from the sidewalk. “It’s how you get a ride.” 

“What?” Bucky asked, still kind of angry but leaning toward incredulous. 

“It’s like hitchhiking, but it means you’re willing to give the driver some gas money.” 

“What?” he repeated, but this time he’d defused completely. “I’ve been spending hours on a goddamn bus all this time and I could’ve been hitching rides?” 

Fuck, he hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. 

“You, uh… you okay, buddy? You seem kinda… not.” 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Thanks for the tip, pal. Really.” 

He found another intersection away from that guy who was probably one wrong word from recognizing who he was talking to before pointing out the ground to every motorist who happened by. The first two balked at how far out of the city he needed to be, so the third guy he showed a hundred dollar bill first. 

“And you don’t need a ride back? ‘Cause I’m not a taxi, man.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and got into the passenger seat. “One way trip, pal.” 

Unfortunately, what Bucky hadn’t banked on was that the guy would want to _talk_ instead of just driving. Told Bucky all about his internship or fellowship or whatever it was at a hospital he’d already forgot the name of. “Kind of a big dude, aren’t you? What’s out in Catonsville anyway?” 

Bucky was tired and didn’t have the energy to come up with a lie. “Bad guys. You’re gonna drop me off a couple miles away and I’m gonna take them down.” 

The guy laughed like it was a good joke, completely missing Bucky’s serious look. “Okay, Iron Man. You gonna pay me though, right?” 

Bucky set the bill in the empty half of the cupholder and stared straight ahead. Probably for the best that the truth was taken for a joke, though his sleeve revealed part of his metal arm as he reached to deposit the cash and he saw his driver swallow a little. There was no more conversation, and it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. 

Bucky took them out easily enough, but was forced to abandon his wait at the second facility a few days in. Apparently his driver had mentioned him to some friends, some dots were connected, and suddenly the guy was on national news talking about how he’d narrowly escaped death. Most of the interviews didn’t have the part where he mentioned what Bucky had said about taking down the bad guys. That wasn’t as interesting as the fist of HYDRA hitchhiking in Baltimore county. 

Hitchhiking was out, so he headed south, keeping within the tree line as he travelled. His stash of protein bars was running dangerously low by the time he started seeing promising exit signs for DC. He found a metro station easily enough, and paid for one of the paper cards, staring curiously at the picture of the president smiling at him. Bucky returned the smile even though the facsimile wouldn’t know the difference. No one would have dreamed of a Black president back in the thirties and forties. Now his face was on paper metro cards. “Took long enough,” he muttered as he went to swipe his way through the gates. 

People mostly left him alone and Bucky had no idea where to get off, so he decided to get off at the stop with the Civil War Memorial. Something older than him sounded good right now, since he was feeling so unbelievably old and tired. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure where the memorial was and instead of finding it, he was immediately faced down with a goddamn Starbucks. So much for something older than he was. 

At least he could have something delicious to get his blood sugar back up. His favorite thing about Starbucks baristas was they never questioned something like “I want a strawberries and crème frappucino with toffee nut.” Their loss. If they ever asked, he’d tell them it tastes just like Captain Crunch. The perfect breakfast for a super soldier with a ridiculous metabolism. 

Bucky wandered for a while before ending up back on the train. He should probably find a library and get to work, but his mind was wandering and the idea of starting over at square one felt overwhelming. Maybe it was stupid to dedicate himself to protecting someone he was never going to see again. Maybe it was stupid to dedicate himself to anything. Bucky didn’t miss HYDRA and never would, but he did miss the peace that came with always knowing exactly what needed to be done. 

With a grimace as the train went through a tunnel that made his ears pop, Bucky began to list his most immediate problems: two protein bars left, running low on cash (probably shouldn’t have bought that expensive milkshake), no shelter. So he needed to take care of those last two before the first one became a bigger problem. Bucky got off at the University stop, certain there had to be a library there. There was one a block or two away, but it wasn’t attached to a university as far as he could tell. Oh, well. He snagged a computer and immediately began to hack some HYDRA bank accounts. 

An hour later, he was still stuck on a train, wishing he wasn’t eating his last protein bar as they crept forward inches at a time, delayed for whatever bullshit reason the DC metro could be delayed. By the time they finally reached the next stop, Bucky was so desperate for something to eat he didn’t care where he was. When he reached the road, he realized that might have been a mistake. This was the touristy area, with museums and stuff. Well, it was crowded and exciting. No one would notice yet another tourist hanging around. He quickly found an ATM and, making sure the camera wouldn’t catch his face, withdrew as much of the recently-stolen HYDRA cash as he could without drawing suspicion. A ridiculous amount of money and twenty minutes later, he was finishing off a third hot dog and finally noticing the three guys who’d been watching him eat. He recognized them now. They’d been at the ATM, maybe looking for a good victim. They thought since there were three of them and the sun was starting to set, they could take him. They were wrong. He was going to figuratively eat the three of them like he had literally eaten those three hot dogs. At least they’d picked him, and not someone who would actually be hurt when they attacked. 

Bucky played dumb, checking his money (just to make sure he still had their interest) and then dumping his trash before walking away, taking a shortcut (to nowhere, but they didn’t know that) that would surely help them feel like they could get him without any witnesses intervening. 

He had expected the knife, deflecting it easily with his left arm before removing it from its owners hand so that it fell to the ground with an echoing clatter. Quickly, Bucky made two quick jabs: one to the guy’s throat and another to his stomach. That one was down for the count. Number two swung at him with a garbage can. Bucky absorbed the blow, using his own tolerance for pain to get closer for a surprise attack. Predictably, the guy had expected Bucky to dodge, so he wasn’t prepared for the boot to the gut when Bucky actually ran toward the impact instead of away. 

Bucky had not expected, however, the gun. By the time he saw it, he wasn’t close enough to grab it, but he was close enough that even an amateur would be able to at least disable him. Bucky could probably block one or two shots with his hand, but number three looked like he was just trigger-happy enough to land one or two. 

“Hey, man I just texted your picture to the cops!” called someone from behind Bucky and his kneejerk response was to panic. He wanted to avoid detection, having his picture taken was not conducive to avoiding detection. He tensed, trying to stay focused on the gun pointed at him, determined to catch as many shots as possible, but he also needed to get the guy taking pictures before he got a face shot. Bucky’s arm was still covered, so he probably wasn’t identifiable from what had already been taken. 

Wait. 

No. 

Why was the gun lowering? The guy and his friends were beating a not-so-hasty retreat, nursing the blows he’d given them. 

Oh. 

“You alright, man?” 

Bucky turned, trying to hide behind his hair. A guy was approaching, and his phone was lowered. Everything about his posture screamed placation- probably because everything about Bucky’s screamed cornered animal ready to attack. “Yeah, I came by because I saw those guys casing you, probably shouldn’t wave money around like that by the way, and thought you might need some help. Looks like you can take pretty decent care of yourself though.” 

“Casing?” he repeated, trying to match the friendly demeanor, but not quite able to shake the adrenaline rush so easily. 

“Yeah, trying to figure out if you were worth mugging.” 

“I know what casing is,” Bucky replied. “I saw it too. They followed me from the ATM.” 

“Okay, my mistake. Guess you don’t need my help then.” 

Bucky didn’t reply, and it became clear that was a mistake since the guy obviously wanted confirmation that he was okay. He figured it out a little too late because his savior launched into Connection Mode. “You carry yourself like someone with combat training,” he observed casually. “I work with a lot of vets. That you?” 

Bucky glanced to the side, feeling uncomfortable. Apparently that was a confirmation. “You got somewhere to stay tonight?” 

Again, Bucky somehow managed to answer while trying to avoid the question. “Look, I got a couch, a shower, and a hot meal if you’re interested. No strings.” 

Bucky pressed his lips together. All of that sounded… so good. “Okay,” he agreed, though he was pretty sure they were both going to regret it. 

“I’m Sam,” the guy introduced himself. “What can I call you?” 

Not what was his name. What could he call Bucky. This guy had him pegged for sure. “Steve,” he replied, because it was the first name besides his own that he could come up with. 

“Alright, Steve, but I got first dibs on the shower, okay? Normally I do my runs in the morning, but lucky for you I overslept today and had to go after work.” 

“Lucky me,” Bucky agreed, still hesitant to stay anywhere or get to know anyone. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally hurt someone who invited homeless vets to stay at his house and eat his food. 

Sam did most of the talking, using “his” name a little too often when he talked, like calling him by name would make him feel more at home. Unfortunately for Bucky, hearing the name Steve over and over mostly just crushed his will to live. He did his best to focus on the other words as Sam told him about his friend Riley, killed in action. If Bucky had had doubts about Sam’s intentions before, they were gone now. The kind of loss he could read in Sam as he talked was not something that could be faked. The way he tried to brush it off, the way it still hurt even though he’d clearly had a lot of practice saying it. This was the story he told to connect and earn trust, and Bucky could see why. It worked. 

“Lost my whole unit,” Bucky finally contributed. He didn’t specify when. It didn’t matter. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if they were all gone. He’d lost them just the same. His memories of them weren’t clear, but he could remember red hair and a few faces. He remembered feeling happy, at home. There was a warmth in those memories, just out of his grasp…

“That’s rough,” Sam said, and Bucky didn’t feel patronized. “What are you doing now?” 

Bucky could tell he really wanted the answer, and the weird part was he wanted to give it. “Taking out the bastards responsible,” he replied flatly. This was the moment. Sam could accept him or not. Bucky didn’t even have a guess as to the response he would receive, and it almost seemed like Sam didn’t either. Immediately, Bucky felt his hackles rise as he grew defensive. “Those fuckers took everything from me. First time in a long time, I felt like I could have something good and now I can’t even have that. So at least, if I take out H-HYDRA, the world’s a little less shitty.” 

Stumbling over the name, wondering if he shouldn’t be less specific, Bucky was worried all over again. He didn’t know this man, didn’t know if he could trust him, not really. Until he said, “Want help?” 

Immediately, Bucky felt himself relax a little. Sam wasn’t going to turn him in or try to stop him. “Not sure I want to risk anyone on it,” he replied. 

“You’re risking yourself.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Not as much of a risk.” 

“You’re worth just as much as anyone else,” Sam insisted. 

“No, I mean it ain’t as much of a risk because I’m harder to kill,” Bucky insisted. Besides, HYDRA would only kill him if they couldn’t control him. As far as he knew, they could still control him. Worse, they could make him kill his allies. “Look, if I’m gonna stay here tonight, you should know… I’m a risk.” 

“I watched you take out two armed thugs,” Sam reminded him. “I’m aware.” 

“My name ain’t Steve.” 

“I kinda figured.” 

“I’m dangerous.” 

“See, I’m not convinced of that one. I think you’re only dangerous to the bad guys. I like to think I’m a good judge of character, and I’m judging your character to be good.” 

Bucky sighed and clenched his jaw. “Don’t you watch the news?” 

“If you’re asking me if I know who you are, I do. I’ve been reading up on your history since they reported you in Baltimore. Figured you would keep going south.” 

Great, so he was predictable. “Well, my character ain’t the problem. HYDRA put this shit in my head, makes me do whatever they want. I can’t control it. So, yeah. I’m dangerous. You can change your mind at any point, Sam.” 

Sam gave him a look, but it wasn’t afraid. It seemed… sad. Normally, that kind of look would have Bucky running for the hills (the angry hills), but there wasn’t sympathy in there. Sam didn’t pity him, and that was the thing that Bucky truly couldn’t stand. “You know, just when I think I can’t hate those HYDRA assholes anymore, you go and say a thing like that.” 

Sam was ridiculously good at saying what Bucky needed to hear. “If I can just… stay here at night,” Bucky said hesitantly. “I’ll be out of your hair during the day. I go to libraries so they can’t track me if they notice me in their system.” 

“Oh, you hack too?” Sam said, an air of teasing in his tone. “Yeah, man. Just promise me you’ll ask for help if you need it. And you won’t go disappearing without letting me know you didn’t get your ass killed.” 

Bucky nodded solemnly. “I won’t leave without saying goodbye,” he agreed. 

To his surprise, he began to like Sam. There was something easy about him, friendly, and fuck was he funny. The first morning, he let Bucky know he made breakfast _if he ate that sort of thing_ and he had actually laughed. He hadn’t laughed since he’d left Steve. It felt good. It felt like having friends. It felt like that warm memory he couldn’t quite reach of the Howling Commandos in the deep fog of his past. It remained that easy and that good until Bucky found a HYDRA facility in northern Virginia. He cased it (see, he knew words, Sam) for a couple weeks before telling Sam, as promised. 

Predictably, Sam had some opinions. He wanted Bucky to let him go with, but Bucky eventually won that argument. His new friend did have one parting shot, though. He insisted Bucky watch a YouTube video before risking his life. He’d been expecting more memes (Sam had an unrepentant love for memes, and if it weren’t for the playful ribbing he had to maintain, Bucky would absolutely admit his love for all the screaming goat ones.) but instead, it was a video posted about two months ago, not too long after he’d arrived in DC. Fuck, it had been almost half a year without Steve now. 

Fuck, Steve was the one the reporters were swarming in the video. Questions were being shouted, one on top of the other, all to do with Bucky and had Steve ever been afraid for his safety, did he feel betrayed, was it true that Bucky had attacked an ex in a fit of jealous rage? 

That was the question that finally got Steve to stop playing No Comment and remove the metaphorical fingers in his ears. The reporters all quieted as it became clear Steve was going to say something. “Bucky Barnes is not a monster. He’s not dangerous. He did not attack Brock Rumlow. Brock Rumlow was an abusive dick who was stalking me and sending me death threats. Bucky _attacked_ Brock Rumlow to protect me and was literally _shot in the head_ doing so. Yes, I did fear for my safety. But not from Bucky. I knew from day one exactly who he was. I was and still am in love with him. Who he was was never a problem. It’s you fucking vultures-! You fucking-“ 

Bucky’s mouth was open but he couldn’t breathe. Steve was shaking his head, being pulled away by an angry Agent Nat. Steve sounded like he was about to cry and Bucky suddenly realized… Steve thought Bucky left because of what he’d told him about Rumlow. About at least some small part of it being consensual, though Bucky still wasn’t sure much of it truly was. More importantly, was Steve saying he’d known Bucky was the Winter Soldier? That… made sense. Of course they would have told Steve what he was signing up for. He probably even knew Agent Nat wasn’t a real agent. “Fuck,” he croaked out. 

Sam gripped Bucky’s arm. “I’m not saying you owe anyone anything. It just seemed like maybe you ought to know. In case you didn’t, or if you had some kind of desire to go out in a blaze of gunfire.” 

Bucky shook his head as his gaze hardened. “I want HYDRA dead at the roots.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s a fun story. My dad attended Towson University WAY back in the day and one night, to celebrate finals or something, they were setting off fire works on the roof of the dorm. The cops showed up and were Way Too Intense (no one got hurt, it was just scary). Anyway, long story short, the lot of them ended up receiving letters from the FBI because Arthur Bremer (tried to kill a Congressman, failed) was being kept nearby temporarily and they thought the fireworks were somehow related to that. So that’s the target Bucky was not-remembering. It doesn’t mean anything for the plot. It just helped me get him somewhere I could navigate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify playlist for the EP Sam gives Bucky. It contains a few tracks that are not linked to because they don’t listen to the whole thing. I just have opinions on what Steve would put on this EP. And, since it’s the first thing that happens and I assume you readers are all heckin smart (am I complimenting you? My fic? Both?), it’s not a spoiler to tell you now that it’s a Steve EP because obviously, of course it would be. https://open.spotify.com/user/bkumc3izji25t7yucz41xuvut/playlist/3IhXsE8GXzxPMyRL1cXkjA

Six more months passed before Bucky was sure he was done in DC. He’d staked out the last facility just to be sure, but this one he’d managed to get a good portion of HYDRA’s server downloaded. It had a lot of data on their experiments but, more importantly, it had the location of every HYDRA facility, every agent, every potential recruit. He could truly, truly take them out with this information. He could end those fucking Nazis. 

The only trouble was Sam. They were close now. Bucky might even consider the man his best friend. Until Sam revealed that he’d been in contact with Stark for at least three months, and then he really reconsidered when Sam gave him a CD. It was burned onto a blank disc, with nothing written on it except “Behind Locked Doors.” 

“What is this?” Bucky demanded, his tone unimpressed. 

“A new release I think you’ll want. And I told you about Stark because you can’t take out all those places on your own. We can help.” 

“We,” Bucky repeated, just as unimpressed. Sam nodded and Bucky cut him off before he could extol upon the virtues of the Avengers, which his friend was obviously now a part of. “Did you already forget the footage of me grounding Tony and almost ending Barton?” 

“They said it’s some kind of verbal trigger, right? Stark already built you special comms that filter out any unapproved voices.” 

Bucky felt his jaw drop. “I still…”

“Look, Bucky, whatever you think you have to do, I can’t stop you. I just wish you’d let somebody help. You got people who care about you, man. It isn’t gonna feel good for us if you get yourself killed.” 

Bucky gave him a smile that was two parts sad and one part confused. It had genuinely never occurred to him that any of them would be broken up about it if he died. He’d spent so long thinking of himself as a machine that, even once he had his free will mostly back, it had stuck. Without a mission, who was he? Bucky… didn’t know what his purpose was without a mission. Right now, Bucky was the guy taking out HYDRA. He knew how to do that. He knew how to be that. 

“I…” didn’t know what to say, was the truth of it. With a tired sigh, Sam snatched the CD from the table in front of Bucky and went to put it in the player. “Hey, that’s mine.” 

“Yeah, and you need to listen to it right the hell now.” 

Sam stalked out of the room once he hit play, knowing Bucky wasn’t going to not listen to it. He could vaguely hear the sound of Sam (angrily) chopping vegetables, but his attention was on the plucked guitar notes. He knew this music. This was one of the songs Steve played when he thought no one was listening. _Behind a locked door._ Bucky’s knees gave out as he was forced to hear a version of Steve he’d never heard before. His voice sounded rough, like they’d done too many takes, like his voice was about to give out, like he could barely keep it together. Like he’d been crying. _Oh, but you will find out and then you will leave me…_

He heard the full version with the verse of the song he’d overheard Steve writing about wanting to be a shadow on the wall, to disappear, to not be anyone’s fool. Then he heard something completely different. Not only had he never heard [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7J446geYJI&t=01m05s) before, but Steve wasn’t singing it. Bucky gave Sam a horrified look as he returned, and it had nothing to do with the dry celery his friend was chewing as quietly as possible. 

“Yeah,” Sam acknowledged. “He wrote it, and they gave up on getting a good take out of him after about a week of recording. That’s actually Romanoff singing. Steve couldn’t do it.” 

Bucky was shaking, and not in a good way. The song was about seeing someone you’d lost everywhere, even when you know it can’t be them. It was about hearing them in windchimes and the creak of the house, about turning on the TV or music or anything to drown out the emptiness of the silence and Bucky’s voice was unsteady as he said, “I didn’t think… Not… Not like that.” 

This time, Sam’s sigh wasn’t angry. “Why are you so dead set on avoiding him, man? It’s clear you still love him.” 

Bucky swallowed, not certain if he could have this conversation. “I’m dangerous.” 

“Stark made you sound filters.” 

“I’m a monster.” 

“Not to him. He literally said ‘Bucky Barnes is not a monster.’ He’s in love with you, Bucky.” 

Bucky shook his head. “I know what he said in that interview, but…”

“But nothing, man. What the hell? Do you like being miserable? You got someone who loves you, friends to keep you safe, and your dumb ass is trying to convince everyone that- what? You’re no good for him? He doesn’t know what he’s really feeling? You just don’t deserve happiness? Tell me, man, because I’m trying, but I just don’t understand.” 

Blinking away the blurriness in his eyes, Bucky said quietly, “I remember some of them. The people I killed. I remember shooting Barton last year. It might not be my fault, but I did it.” 

“Steve doesn’t care. He said it himself.” 

“Well, I do!” Bucky snapped. “I do care! I care that whatever tech Stark has made, it’s not something that I can use every minute of every day. There’s always gonna be some way that I’m a danger as long as HYDRA is still around. I can’t risk him. I can’t live in a world where there’s no Steve Rogers.” 

“I hate to tell you this, man, but you’re already living in a world where there’s no Steve Rogers. Sure, he exists somewhere up in New York, but he might as well already be dead for how often you see him. You know they billed this EP as his farewell album? He’s quitting music. Not taking it on tour. Maybe he’ll get over it, or maybe thinking he drove you away broke him for good.” 

Bucky doubled over, face contorted in agony at the harsh truth, at the idea of beautiful, sweet Steve being _broken for good._ Steve’s voice was on the edge of his memory, saying _Music is how I cope. If I’m not playing music, I’m dead…_

“What kind of tech?” he gritted out. 

“Glad you asked. Stark sent it ahead. He also sent a car to take you to the airport.” 

“But-“

“Man, we have been trying to get you back up there for months. Don’t ask, just get the hell out of my house.” 

He made sure Sam had copies of all his information on HYDRA and gathered his few belongings before finally getting in the car out front. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from dragging his feet. As badly as he wanted to see Steve, he also wanted to avoid him out of guilt, out of fear that maybe he hated Bucky for what he’d done. Mostly, he was afraid he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye and see a broken trust that couldn’t be rebuilt. 

By the time the plane landed, it was dark. Bucky didn’t look for Stark’s car. He didn’t want anyone to witness his hesitation or whatever humiliating fear response he was going to have when he saw the familiar house. He’d warned Sam before he left that he was going to Steve’s alone. He’d promised on day one not to disappear without saying goodbye. They hadn’t bothered telling Steve he was coming, probably a stupid decision, but apparently he didn’t answer his phone consistently and constantly left it on silent in the wrong room. He’d promised to make sure Steve let them know he arrived alright anyway. 

The trouble was that apparently the music Steve turned up to sleep wasn’t just to drown out the silence. It was an expression of his anger that no one else would recognize except Bucky. He didn’t realize until it was too late and he was on Steve’s front step that the song Steve was playing inside was his trigger song. Bucky had hurt him that badly. Steve hated him that much. Bucky didn’t even fight the haze as he sank to his knees and let himself fall sideways against the vinyl of the house. He stopped seeing the faint light from the window in the door above him before it turned off. He didn’t register time passing, the song (on repeat) finally timing out, or even the sun rising the next morning. His entire awareness was the feeling of being sliced open, and the certainty that he deserved it. 

Bucky didn’t feel the warmth as the sun drew higher in the sky. He didn’t feel anything besides the invisible scalpels until suddenly he did. There were hands on his face, gentle hands, and lips on his. Realizing who it was only made him start crying, an ugly sob puffing against those gentle lips, turning them into a forehead resting against his own. 

“Bucky,” Steve breathed, and he was too far gone to read what emotion lie in his name, too taken by the hands cradling the back of his head, pulling him until his nose was buried in the familiar almost-forgotten scent of Steve’s neck. The soft touch slowly overwrote the scalpels and he tried to get Steve’s name out, but couldn’t. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Fuck, I should have checked my phone. I didn’t know, Bucky, I swear to God if I’d known…”

Finally, Bucky convinced his arms to work, wrapping them around Steve’s slender waist, burying himself further into the man he’d never willingly leave again. “Scared,” he tried to explain. He didn’t mean now. He remembered the most pressing thing, which was to make sure Steve knew that Bucky had run because he was a piece of shit, and not because of anything to do with Steve. Unfortunately, that was not what Steve read into the word. 

“I know, Buck. I’m here.” 

“I ran,” Bucky tried again. “I thought you couldn’t… not when you knew.” 

“Later,” Steve promised. “We can talk later. Can you walk? Let’s get you inside, huh Buck?” 

Bucky nodded, still feeling unbelievably foggy. Steve squeezed him tight, and it helped. Between Steve and the slight lip of each panel of vinyl on the wall, Bucky managed to get to his feet. He didn’t feel right. This was worse than usual, though he couldn’t quite figure out what was usual or where the threshold for bad or worse was. Bucky didn’t want to lean on Steve as heavily as he was, gripping the doors and walls and finally trying to walk on his own with Steve just for balance when they had to cross the main room. Unfortunately, he misjudged his own strength and ended up on the floor, with only a vague recollection of Steve panicking and some grappling to keep him on his feet before the solid coolness of laminate was on his face. Time was wrong. A lot of things were wrong. He couldn’t remember…

Warm hands were gripping his face. “..cky? Bucky, talk to me.” 

“Steve,” he mumbled, recognizing the voice. He shut his eyes, enjoying the gentle warmth of the other man’s touch. He was cold, shivering maybe. The faint smile on his face shifted into confusion. “Something’s… not…?”

The hands were gone and the fog descended again. Bucky wasn’t sure how long. They were carving him like people who had no business sculpting, shoving pillows under him while they did so. He didn’t know how they were carving him through the blankets being draped over him, why they were trying to make him comfortable when the scalpels… No, not scalpels. A body slipping under the blankets with him, draping itself over him, squeezing hard, nuzzling his cheek, whispering to him and then squeezing almost hard enough to hurt. 

“…don’t know how to help, Bucky, you’ve gotta talk to me, please.” He wanted to help, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was useless, just a canvas being slowly painted over with blood. “Fuck, what do I do? What do I do, Bucky? Please… please, I can’t do this. I can’t lose-”

The sudden moisture on his cheek was jarring and knocked some memories loose, at least. Bucky was him. His human blanket, the crying body was Steve. Steve was important. Steve wasn’t allowed to cry. Bucky had to fix whatever was making him cry. Warmth was starting to come back as he shivered and he wrapped his arms around crying body Steve, desperate for more of it. Bucky wasn’t sure if that helped or made it worse as kisses rained down on his face along with more tears. “I…” Bucky opened his eyes, still foggy. He held Steve’s gaze with his own, not wanting to look away from the innate knowledge that this was the best sight he would ever see. 

He closed his eyes anyway when Steve’s lips met his own and warmth flooded back all at once. He arched into the kiss, pulling Steve closer instinctively. The kiss intensified, with Steve’s hands cradling Bucky’s head, his legs parting to straddle Bucky’s hips. “Steve,” Bucky said, the name muffled by the mouth on his own. 

“I’ve got you,” Steve promised. “Come back to me, Buck.” 

The fog was thinning now, at least. He could remember why he came here, why his heart felt like a ripped up cotton ball. He focused on Steve, on the slide of their lips together, on the gentle scratch of fingernails on his scalp and the perfect fit of Steve’s smaller body against his own under the blankets. The fog had begun to clear and Bucky blinked, feeling exhausted and a little like he’d been run under the wheels of at least half a dozen train cars. “I’m sorry,” he told Steve, begging with his eyes for the blond to understand. 

“It’s not okay,” Steve informed him, though he was still curled close and made no move to change that. “But if you never pull something like that again, I can probably forgive you, asshole.” 

Bucky smiled a little, though it was tainted by exhaustion. He let his head fall to the side, frowning. “We’re on the floor.” 

“Yeah, you fell and I didn’t think I could get you on your feet again, so.” 

“You were… playing… that song.” 

Steve had the grace to look ashamed, at least. “It killed me when you left, you know. I was sad and angry and dead inside and… look, it’s not my proudest moment, but I have every right to be angry with you, and it wasn’t like I ever expected you to show up. Playing that song was like… almost as big a fuck you to you as you abandoning me over- over… what I told you.” 

Bucky gave him a horrified look. “Stevie, no. Not that. I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to abandon you, I just…” He cleared his throat painfully. “You seemed so upset about the news, about all the- all of _my_ murders and assassinations and- and that’s r-reasonable. I knew you could never… so I ran.” 

“Never what, you dick?” Steve challenged him and Bucky wished he had any energy at all because Steve was right. He deserved to be angry, and it wasn’t fair to tell him he had to save it for when Bucky didn’t feel like a dumpster full of garbage water. “Do you think I didn’t know all that and then some? I was upset because I knew all that stuff becoming public was going to hurt _you_. And I would’ve been there if you’d fucking let me.” 

Bucky choked back a sob. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I’m so fucking sorry, I… Fuck, I fucked everything up…”

“So fix it,” Steve replied simply, tucking his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck as he relaxed against him. “Trust me to handle it, Buck. Trust me not to leave you, or at least to hear you out.” 

Bucky turned slightly until they were tilted to the side a bit so he could let his arm rest in the arc of Steve’s waist. Even the energy of holding his hands around Steve’s back while he was on top was more than he could spare. Steve melded into him perfectly and the physical contact kept him grounded, kept the fog at bay so that he could actually process Steve’s words. Put like that, he felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. “You’re right,” he told Steve, turning to kiss behind his ear since that was what was in reach with his face buried in Bucky’s neck. “I didn’t give you a chance, I just… I couldn’t take it if you hated me as much as you should for all the terrible things I’ve done. And I know it’s not my fault, but I still did them, okay?” 

Steve kissed Bucky’s neck, slow and gentle in a way that made him shiver- but not from cold this time. “Don’t make rules about how I should feel either,” Steve said, his breath ghosting across Bucky’s skin, the tickle disappearing in the solid contact from Steve’s lips kissing his neck again. “I love you, and that means I only hate you for the things that are your fault.” 

Bucky laughed a little and felt Steve’s smile in the next kiss. It was tender, not sexual, though if he hadn’t been so worn out that the floor felt comfortable, he might have shifted and moved in ways to make it turn sexual. As it was, he was too tired to move in any way and could only accept the small touches of affection for what they were. “I love you,” he breathed, and there was a sudden pause in the kiss, just a temporary one, like a skip in a song. 

Steve’s lips were on his, heavy and solid and beautiful. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Now rest so that I can punch you without feeling guilty about it.” 

Bucky conjured energy from he-didn’t-know-where and cupped Steve’s cheek, gazing at him blearily. “Stevie, you could stab me and I’d be so fucking happy to be in the same room with you, I’d probably thank you.” 

“Yeah, this is the least romantic conversation two people have ever had,” Steve replied drily. 

Bucky laughed a little, still tired but so happy to see the smile Steve gave in return. “Suits us though,” he murmured. “The necking kind of evens things out a bit though, yeah?” 

“If you’re asking me to kiss you, I’m gonna make you wait until after you get some damn sleep.” 

“I like it when you swear,” Bucky smirked. 

“I swear to god if you make a joke about dirty mouths…”

“You know, I wasn’t gonna go there, but maybe later.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s waist a little, tucking his head against the blond’s as he let his eyes fall shut. “Best I’ve felt in months.” 

Steve cuddled against him and Bucky smiled faintly. Sleep was falling on him fast, and as much as he wanted to relish the feeling of Steve in his arms again, he was too tired to fight it off any longer. 

They would both be sore and cramped when they woke in a few hours, and their story wasn’t over yet. Bucky was still a wanted murderer, Steve needed to work out what he was going to do about his career, and HYDRA was still a threat to both them and the rest of the world. For now, though. For now, they could rest peacefully and forget everything outside of the warm blanket. For now, everything was right again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a fun fact: i was typing that last paragraph and started cussing because i didn't want to write a series. I really should have realized earlier (with the 2-3 very distinct plots in my head for this) that it was, but i didn't, so.


End file.
